Stochastic
by Vergil's Inferno
Summary: The twins find themselves facing their toughest obstacle yet; there was no way they would allow Nero to find out, but after forty eight straight hours of deceit, would the truth end up being the bitter punishment of its intent? Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters; they belong to Capcom.
1. Two regrets later

Author's note: Please use caution when reading this. IT COULD GET REALLY CONFUSING! But I swear it makes sense.

* * *

The both of them stumbled through their huge front door, swinging from one another like the hinges that were supporting them. The red clad hybrid stormed in headfirst giggling his arse off, taking extra care with every step to not wake the current sleeping presence in the apartment. The bluer took his turn elegantly, poised and professional, and faking his centre of gravity to the T to focus for them both, finding his brother at the bottom of the staircase that lead to his room; he straightened his back and coat, flicking the snow off his collar and shoulder pads as he sauntered to the wobbling odour that was his sibling, not opting for a straight walk either. The path up the stairs was no easier than the trip home, hitting both sides of the wall with each step and misstep of their numbing feet until their temporary eureka moment that, with certainty, neither of them would remember.

Dante opened his bedroom door slowly, stopping immediately as it wailed for its long overdue appointment with some Q20. "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Nero's sleepiing!" The door seemed to have listened to him at being quiet for the rest of the way, opening it wide enough for his brother to drag their size elevens over the threshold. "What a goo daw."

He looked to Vergil for praise at his stroke of genius; he was met with a sloppy nod. "You sure-" and a burp that would surely wake Nero up "-have your way with 'em, Dante."

They got as far as the end of the bed, plopping onto the edge for them to work on each other in ridding their three-layered battle skins, catching a travelling whiff of the strong alcohol content of their clothing; so drenched they were that Dante put the sleeve of the long blue coat in his mouth and wrung it out between his big hands, his mind already drifting to the dizzying nightcap of both strong spirits and his brother's scent, driving his starched mind crazy with want of the rest of its owner. Vergil sprang to his feet causing a rippling dip in the mattress that made Dante wonky again, gathering up his clothes and unprepared for the drunken makeshift tug of war match for his jacket. "Where you goin'?"

He was unsure of which direction to pull owing to the triplet manhandling his attire. "T' bed. Where elss?"

Where Dante was getting his strength from was a question best answered sober. "Sleep here."

"No."

"Why nooooot?"

Vergil tugged some more; no give. "If I do, we'll have dirty sex."

Dante's entire face opened in surprise like it never happened. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo-" he belched inward, covering his mouth with a fist "-oooooooooooo. That won' happn." He animatedly shook his head as dire emphasis on his claim, trying to convince himself. "I was juz thinkin' about the long trip t'ur room, buddybooh."

The elder wafted his hand in the air, disregarding the plea for his safety as a con to get him into bed. "I'll be fine. Get some sleep; we have a big day t'morro," he said, erroneously turning his back to his quick-footed and agile brother and was wrenched backward as his clothes flew everywhere, his body twisted to meet Dante's savage eyes while being pulled between his legs; the seated twin messily pulled off his own white tank, tossing it across the room against what he assumed was the untidy pile he had constructed mere minutes before, tugging at the one in front of him to do the same. He lifted the flimsy cloth above his belly button, fixing wet pupa kisses down the light dusting of silver hair and nibbling on the skin at the waistband of his silk boxer shorts, feeling the definite touch of the swell underneath his chin.

"For old time's sake, Vergil."

Their identical gaze met for a split second; nearly sober, famished, exhausted, but harbouring enough promise to see the next few minutes through. That moment told Dante all he needed to know, uncoordinatedly backing up onto the bed where his head hit the pillows against the headboard and waiting for Vergil to make the move they both knew he needed to make; knowing full well that it drove him insane the elder did as he was told, slowly removing the offending fibres and adding them to his small splayed pile and scratching a non-existent itch behind his neck, giving Dante enough time to ogle over what he'd caused for himself.

He stalked the same path as his prey, more soberly of course, keeping his eyes set at the diminishing distance and growing desire of his twin who placed his hands on either side of Vergil's face when he was close enough to be kissed, moving to an inch separating their parted lips. "What's gotten inta you, Dante?"

Again, not the easiest time to think up a viable reason for the suddenness of his request. "Do I need a reason to make love to yooo?"

Vergil pushed their foreheads together. "That look in your eye says more than that."

"Good." Dante gave him a smile so precious, he could resist; he went in for the kill, prying his tongue in the spongy gap beneath waiting to be bruised purple at cushioning the seed he couldn't wait to nurture.

Massive neon lights flickering on and off, thumping bass that made your ears bleed, women prancing on poles along the better half of naked, and music that raised your blood pressure to unsafe status; this was the furthest thing from the proposed relaxing evening his brother had promised after their never-ending day of fighting hordes upon hordes of demons. What was meant to be three bottles of white wine with its own accompanying box of dark chocolate was replaced with a huge bowl of nachos, pieces of steak and feta gracing the tortilla chips on a bed of greasy chilli-cheese potato sticks that were doing wonders at soaking up the alcohol swimming in his stomach. Being the health freak he was, carbs were his ultimate enemy, only existent in times of dire need and frustration loading up as much as he could in a short time to give it no standing chance against his fists, a boxing bag, and three non-stop hours of blowing off the steam of anger that welled as a result of his over consumption. Now, however, he was stone cold drunk; not his usual 'just-about-getting-tipsy-by-drinking-on-an-empty-stomach' drunk, but the 'once-in-a-lifetime-can't-walk-straight-and-seeing-double' drunk, and thanks to his brother no less.

With a slight pink tinge to his cheeks and his hair flowing to every direction on a compass, the elder twin struggled to figure out which hand held the oily mess, which made the journey to his mouth even more difficult; the swivel chair didn't help, and neither did the freshly polished wooden bar top he held onto for dear life. Balancing with food and a neat triple bourbon in his hands was almost impossible, but he was known to make it work. The owner of Love Planet watched him from the corner of the bar, cleaning out the last of the washed tumblers and setting them on top of their allotted glass shelf; dressed in a stylish plain burgundy shirt, black pants and sneakers, Hanson smirked at the jaw-dropping sole patron staring at the dance floor like a bottle of strong-smelling antiseptic, drunkenly blowing strawberries to the open air as he slugged his drink.

He looked over his shoulder and wasn't surprised to see Dante knee-deep in flashy, fiendish, barely-adult dry humping in a mixed crowd bobbing to the mind-numbing tempo blasting from the numerous speakers littered across the vast room; the blinking rainbow lights cut the viewing rights short, making him amply dizzy to turn back and claw at the basket of delicious filth, his limbs feeling miles away from his physical body. As messy as his situation, he remained composed in his endeavour, drawing out the licks every one of his fingers in savouring the last time he'd ever go near the tasty stuff. He finished the thumb on his left hand, pursing his lips as the digit escaped and shooting daggers at the innocent pair of grey eyes looking at him, panning downward at the full six feet of slim semi-stranger, leaning against an open cabinet with a dishcloth in his veiny grasp. Vergil kept his stare, slanting his mouth to the side and pouring the final few drops of his glass into his mouth on purpose; Hanson grabbed the bottle he was drinking from and removed the cap, taking the glass from the hybrid and filling it to the brim once again. "You look like you're having a miserable time."

He swirled his drink, forgetting there was no ice. "This is my normal face," he said, wrinkling his face at the somehow stronger burn down his throat. "But no, not miserable; out of my element, but not miserable."

"And what exactly is your element?"

A digit found his chin, 'deep in thought'. "The kitchen, my bedroom, the cellar." It roughly translated to food, sex, and wine, preferably involving him and even better all at once.

The barman set the bottle down in its place, drifting alongside the invisible pull at his ribcage. "Straightforward. I think I'm beginning to like you."

"Only now? I thought I built up quite the reputation since I walked in."

Hanson shrugged. "I've never seen you in here before; I was intrigued and also ready to kick your soft, plump ass if I needed to."

Vergil took another sip, leaving half of the brown spirit in the tumbler. "I'm flattered by the detail, but I'm not used to having my ass handed to me by a lower-class demon with no harmful intent, just trying to better society by one bottle at a time. I'm a respectable man."

Respectable indeed, he thought, watching the intoxicating mess run a long, pink tongue across the glass' rim. "Who'd be pouring your drinks if you did?"

"That too."

He was far beyond the ranks of the vermin that usually came through his doors; it was just a hunch, judging by the expensive, star-crossed material used to manufacture his blue coat. "What brings you here?"

Vergil nudged his head in the direction of the social dragonfly in the centre of the erupting circle of drunken sods looking for a chance to slip their hands into his jeans, giving it a wealthy squeeze as a silent appeal to venture home with them or vice versa. It worked on his nerves that he was forced to watch yet would do so obediently, if he truly wanted Dante to come home in one piece; the number of times he'd used the excuse was beginning to lose its efficacy, and he wondered whether he should let his younger sibling experience the real world of germs and illness thanks to the many spiked drinks a random would need to get away with murder. "Someone in particular insisted I needed to unwind; I was hoping for a long hot bath and look where it got me."

The barman tilted his head at his reply, wondering if he truly was the type. "Oh, you're one with an 'acquired taste'?"

"Since when has a hot bath been an acquired taste?"

"Since some beings in here don't know what a bath is." Hanson leaned on the bar top with a filthy stare that altered to a tantalising purple with flecks of gold, deliberately invading the hybrid's personal bubble. "I have one upstairs if it'll get me a smile."

He didn't have bubble, unfortunately; anything that normally got this close was shredded to one thousand glowing blue pieces, but as he'd stated before, this was an honest man who meant no ill will. The demon matched his action until Hanson could smell the alcohol dissolving through his pores and tiny tufts of his fringe ghosted his forehead with a dangerously thin hair's width amid their aching mouths. "I don't smile."

"Really?" They could whisper now; even with the booming noise all around, their tongues were sensitive enough to trace the ends of the ideas from each sentence. "Is that an acquired taste too?"

Vergil licked his lips, indirectly licking Hanson's as well. "If my brain wasn't soaked in bourbon I might have had a really good comeback."

His eyes flickered behind to the red moving too fast for the assumed stage of inebriation he was meant to shoulder. "Offer still stands; I can stall your brother if you want."

The hybrid shook his head, turning his face to the exit and taking a small sip. "He's not my brother."

"So it doesn't count that he looks exactly like you and comes in here every second night complaining about someone in a long blue coat that can't help but get on his nerves that he just so happens to be related to?"

"Happy coincidence." He dipped his head to look at how much he had left, keeping the lie out of harm's way from the stranger. "As for your offer, I'm going to have to pass; if I end up enjoying it I won't hear the end of it."

"There's no way you will."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'd be down here." It pained him to pull away from the intensity of the blue stare, but he was merely following orders; Dante had requested to keep the bourbon flowing and that's exactly what would happen. "With the alcohol, of course."

The last few drops of the bottle reached to half the glass, with him retrieving another one and opening it to complete the transaction. "It'd be a different story if I was alone-"

"-but you gotta look after him, I know. I guess that's why he brought you along."

"That's the only reason he'd take me anywhere. I'm really fussy."

The miniscule squint of burn was lost on his deadening oesophagus. "In general?"

"When it comes to my acquired tastes."

Hanson was a nosy bitch by nature. "What does fussy entail?"

He wasn't going to spill his secrets any time soon. "There's too little time."

He was a trained barman – he knew a fib when he saw one. "And what would it take to loosen that tongue?"

"A head of soft, graspable hair connected to a supple mouth bobbing between my legs and settling me deep inside its throat."

Wasn't Vergil in luck? "I'm more than capable of that-"

"I have no doubt that you are."

The raspy tinge to his voice gave no way for hesitation, ruffling his fingers through the long, jet back hair as the barman caved into his perpetual desire, finding the hybrid's lips hastily for a lingering peck that gradually turned eager, the tips of their tongues joining at the precipice of their reeling bluffs; Vergil was in common territory with the deep strokes of his organ, earning pleasured hums from the owner in speedy succession, dragging his attention back to him each time his mind had drifted to anything that wasn't the present. Hanson was weak in the knees at the unplanned onslaught, wanting the demon crying against his headboard as opposed to over the bar but either way he'd have his fill, feeling the pool of his release drop between his legs the longer the man held onto his face, nipping at his lips to accentuate the trouble he'd started. The crowd behind Vergil wolf-whistled and howled as they observed the treacherous act at a distance, cheering him on at the personified sin he'd scored for the evening; they were undeniably on the same page, wanting nothing more than a quick alleviation of a moment's lust to disperse in the cool, artificial air circulating through the room, breaking for oxygen with a potent blasphemous look in both their professional glares. "You're almost as bad as he is."

"Don't compare me to my br-" Vergil swallowed for a moment, wetting his dry mouth, "-that man who claims he's related to me. I can do so much more damage."

The worker couldn't handle all of him, but he wasn't one to downplay. "Please carry on – I think this is something I need to hear."

"By the laws of this city, I can't divulge such detail; you'll have to find out for yourself."

"How long's the waiting list?"

Another persistent kiss, lighter with the fragrance of boyish charm, holding its claws on Hanson's jaw no matter all he told himself to pull away. "It just got shorter."

The owner finally got the smile he wanted, beginning as a tentative smirk at the corner of his mouth until he could no longer resist the tug at the other side, smiling against his lips and giving him a total of two seconds to soak it all in as he attended to the new customers along the bar; welcoming glares of all colours and hues shot through the heavy darkening air between them, keeping sure to not stretch the twisting red ribbon to its breaking point. Vergil watched him intently, floating around his territory and moving according to everyone's needs, providing him with an eyeful he hadn't expected after their shared moment of temporary omission. It was at that same instant where their circuit was broken by another ball of red fibre, his jacket following him like one of the ladies he'd swathed himself in mere seconds ago. "Hey Hanson. How's my favourite incubus?"

He wouldn't dare take his eyes off Vergil, motioning Dante with a flick of his hand to lean back until he was done with the other clientele. "He hasn't come home in three days, ask him yourself."

A pout; an adorable one. "Come on; don't be like thaaaaaaaaaaaat."

Their voices drowned into the background while Vergil turned his shoulder to the conversing pair getting back into his musty dignified although strong-smelling bubble; he was starting to feel it, blinking too fast to erase the phantom doppelganger of everything in his sights. He turned to his left and shook the zing from his ears, observing the four figures gesture in unison to the topic at hand, Dante clearly more passionate of the subject matter as the barman tried his best to keep his laugh behind his hand. The blue demon was ever so thankful he got the tail-end of their exchange. "You don't know how difficult it is to keep up this façade."

And cue his job of embarrassing his sibling by any means necessary as payment for making him move out of their front door. "He thinks he has it bad. He's delusional if he assumes his life is anything but unreasonable." He took in their burning stares, singeing his left arm for entirely different reasons. "If I knew him, that's what I would say."

As he'd predicted, Dante's zippy features moved in perfect harmony. "You do know me-"

"No, he doesn't." Hanson's bottom lip curled over avoiding the cerulean as much as he could.

The hybrid met his gaze even if it wasn't returned. "I complain to you about him."

"He says he isn't your guy."

"If he isn't then he should keep his nose out of my business, but does he?"

His reply almost made him laugh. "My nose is too far up my ass to take interest in your bothersome troubles."

The mixture of cocktails was steadily making their way into his bloodstream, or at least that's what Vergil thought when his first three long-island iced teas shot an accusing finger aimed at his nostrils. "You see, I said that to him this morning. In OUR kitchen in OUR house."

"How many times have you reiterated that it's YOURS as I don't pay rent?"

"But you cook to make u- SEE? WE LIVE TOGETHER!"

The fiend behind the bar resumed his spot after helping his customers; he leaned across the oak in front of Vergil, maintaining his gaze while unknowingly putting his cheek in jeopardy. "Dante, we're pulling your leg."

Dramatically pinching the bridge of his nose, he shut his eyes tight, giving his brother the opening to plant a sultry smacker on the barman's cheek. "I'm too sober to comprehend this."

"Yes, his life is as hard as it was for him to say that three-syllabled word." The drunken persona chewed on his earlobe, hearing the sex drip from his deep, husky voice.

"That proves we know each other."

He spoke deep into his ear and cheek yet sufficiently loud for the grudging expression on Dante's face to deepen. "It proves nothing; you don't look the type to know big words, that's all."

"WE ARE IDENTICAL!" A snide whisper with the slight lisp that came with his engorged tongue.

Vergil twisted his neck to look at the poorly placed mirror to his left, distorting his coat, face, and hair; he was slowly getting used to the awful jerk to the corners of his mouth as soon as the spongy barbs traced the veins to his collar. "Your own perspective."

Hanson felt the 'help me out' frozen glower at the joint of his elbow. "I'm strangely more attracted to the one in blue." He detached from his new obsession and gave all six feet three inches his nagging once over, doing the same to his seated twin and cocking his eyebrow arrogantly, unable to willingly defuse the playful conflict. "But your life looks hard, Dante. Really… really hard."

"Thank y- wait, what?" The younger sibling looked down, gave him a face that screamed 'nice one'.

The older finished his drink, conscientiously noting that it would be the final one, put his glass down and set himself straight while on his butt. "You wouldn't last a day as me." He sat up too fast and walked into an imaginary cobweb, loud as daylight and scratching at the grey matter between his ears; he fanned nothing but air, convinced something must have crawled from its spun home onto his clothing; he wasn't too pleased he had a face full of non-existent butt juice either. "Correction; two days, in case you enjoy the first."

That may be true. "You underestimate me, brother."

"Don't call me that in public."

The owner had had enough, launching over the wooden countertop and flicking them both on the forehead, painfully, using their conditions to his advantage; without calculation, the attack on a beginner's level was easily felt five times worse from the liquor, and that was a number he could work with. "Would you stop? Everyone here knows you're twins so give up the fight. My stomach can't take anymore."

Dante rubbed at the spot on his forehead, cursing his brother under his breath – better to get it out and not think it; with his mind-reading and all, there would be no limit to the punishment when they got home. "I want to get going; you ready?"

Vergil had one last jab in him. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He was patient and had good memory: the worst possible opponent in psychological warfare. "Thank you for the incredible night, Hanson. Do give us a call if you want us to look for him."

The barman walked them to the door. "You can give it another few years."

Dante held the other man's chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting his head for a good angle at the graveness of his statement. No one could have seen it coming. "I'm serious-"

"I know." He offered a nervous smile at the idea of his missing twin. "If he isn't home by tomorrow, I'll let you know."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, whatever." The hybrid took offense to his nonchalance, raising his eyebrows in conceit to twist his arm into full disclosure; Dante inclined, placing a snailfully gradual full peck on Hanson's mouth, sucking at his bottom lip which he knew he was incapable of contesting. It was a tactic he'd deployed only once before, when he'd brought Nero along for one of his late-night escapades to keep him from tattling to his brother. But this time was different, and he knew why. "Fine; I promise."

Demons were bound by their word; he wasn't going to leave without it. "Let's get going."

No amount of self-control could hide a night of heavy drinking, even for a demonic tolerance. "Please excuse me while I take this complete stranger home."

It was more along the lines of taking each other home. "Do you need his address?"

"He lives in a house?" A plastered impressed face gawked back, making the owner laugh more. "Who would have known?"

Vergil was hurriedly wrenched in the direction of the door with his fingers being laced by his brother, squeezing a squeeze to a different type of tune he hadn't felt in a while; the 'I-don't-want-to-crush-you-but-we-need-to-go-for-reasons-I'll-tell-you-at-home' as it was better known, told a different story to the composed twin he faced at the threshold of the club. "Let's go quickly, Vergil; the sooner we leave the sooner you grovel on your feet to spend the night in my bed."

His voice was as smooth as honey in reply, hitting Dante square in his core. "I will do nothing of the sort. You will be on your knees long before I have the chance."

Before he risked more of his diminishing, dry brain cells, Hanson moved from behind the bar and steered them both out by the smalls of their backs. Vergil sneered at his grip being a little lower. "I know what you're trying to do, but I have to ask that you please leave before my powers activate on their own and find yourselves in very compromising positions."

Dante held the door open for him, tripping over air as he masterfully carried through the motion his twin had been wanting to do since he got there. "Don't make jokes like that. Vergil likes it rough."

The blue man nodded, delivering with accuracy and the straightest face imaginable. "I do… Very much."

How a stranger knew that was a mystery.

Dante was breathing heavy underneath him, wasted in his efforts to dominate the situation and failing helplessly, staying crushed on his back and reflecting his defeat by the pace of his heart in his chest. "That was it? You were jealous?"

Vergil was doing this on purpose. "I wouldn't use that word-"

"You were fucking jealous, Dante."

He was fast approaching seeing quadruple, with his brother's tongue waging war with the skin on his neck. "I know what those incubi are-" a sharp intake of breath broke the silence as his legs were pulled apart like a surprise attack he asked for "-capable of."

"So do I." Vergil hiked both his legs around his waist. "Or did you forget-"

"Lars is different."

"How so?"

"Lars likes us. Hanson would do it so you owed him a favour."

"Isn't that what that kiss meant?" He lied flat on the body beneath him, rising and falling with the soothing heartbeat he enjoyed toying with. It was as if the alcohol in his bloodstream seeped through his pores, the skin on skin contact making his brother more drunk than he'd originally been. "Okay, I'll bite; how was that different?"

Dante squirmed. "It wasn't."

He rested his chin on his chest. "So now you're a jealous hypocrite."

"I'm not. Not that much." The younger sibling looked down ran his fingers through the soft mop of silver hair ticking his torso; a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised at the heartfelt action, changing his aura in the blink of an eye – his once placid demeanour swung to the opposite end of the stick, mouth-watering in a steeled black that overcame his rich blues. With his demon excited and prepared for what was to come, Vergil stalked up his milky frame: arms at either side of his head, powerful between his legs, hovering over the parched sharp features of Dante's face, marvelling at the extremes he accessed at the click of his finger. "Can you not try and kick back? Even for me?"

They kissed with their eyes open. "I don't know how to do that. I'm your brother; it's my job to protect you-"

"You can relax while you're doing it."

The younger hybrid joined his brother bit by bit, the colour in his eyes swiftly darkening in conjunction with his mood. "I won't get it right."

"Doesn't matter," he said, dropping the discussion he knew would be useless owing to his effervescing consciousness. "I can't waste this naked Vergil; I have a very high tab already."

The being on top used his legs to prod his sibling wider, snaking his hold to the back of his twin's knees and pulling him along for the ride. "I still see two of you."

Dante had to ask. "How much did you drink?"

"How long were you not watching me?"

"A long time." He laced his fingers behind Vergil's neck, using the robust muscle as leverage to get comfortable for the acquainted pain that would ensue.

"Yay. Math succeeds again. Never a strong point of mine."

"I know one major strong point-" A prolonged, harrowing groan spewed from clenched teeth.

Vergil was so used to it he didn't notice the effect of his thrust, habitually licking the palm of his hand and enclosing it around his throbbing penis. "And what would that be?"

The first coil to his wrist sent Dante's arching to the ceiling; mouth open wide, clinging white-knuckled to his sheets, keeping the sting in his lungs at bay as he fell back onto his mattress, his only inclination of throwing his eyes at the points of contact, getting dizzy, pound for pound sending him into the mattress to ride out his improper decimation. "You just shoved it deep inside me."

* * *

Dante was sprawled on his mattress like a dead starfish half-covered in dark blue, the blankets hiding the bare minimum of his assets while the morning sun and breeze hit his bare limbs. His hair fluffed against the bushel of soft pillows under his head like a king in a throne, the smell of the vanilla-zephyr fabric softener hitting him as soon as he regained his senses out of sleep; he tossed a few times rolling over the expanse of his bed…

And everything felt wrong, confirmed by the hazy reflection that stared back in a mirror he didn't own: the blankets were way too thin, the mattress too soft and large, too many fragrant pillows and sponginess he was used to; he never opened his windows and blinds in the morning – he didn't normally get sun. He sat up straight camouflaged in the dark room with the only light coming from the huge window where his wardrobe should be; he rubbed his eyes and felt a completely naked forehead, looking for the hair for its mandatory fluffle ruffle for that gorgeous 'just-out-of-bed' look, the strands feeling a tad too soft after forgetting to wash it the day before. The hangover he expected was nowhere to be felt, seen, or heard in the immense quiet of his four walls. Too dark, too silent, almost as if… he was…

He was in Vergil's room…

How and when his adventure had taken a steep turn would be for him to piece together for the rest of the day, following every one of his and Vergil's footsteps to the club and back. Under reflex, he felt all over his body for anything missing, touching every nook and cranny of past experiences and finding everything in place, smiling to himself at the good decisions he'd made the night before even if he couldn't remember them; he had all his hair, teeth, limbs, yet it still felt awkward – everything was okay but nothing was right, and in the weirdest possible way. The otherworldly relief that shrouded him when he woke dissolved quickly within his distress, knowing the only precise manner to diffuse his unease.

Dante lifted the covers and looked down.

And then to his right at the mirror.

Dante didn't stare back.

On the other side of the house Dante opened each curtain and window for some fresh air, squinting through the glares in the hopes of it being hot enough to scorch the pain away; he massaged at his temples as the pain grew, coming to realise the wild predicament that would storm his brother's bedroom door in short order where he'd hoped most of the throbbing would die down, even if just for a bit. The rushed steps of the assumed visitor were beyond the boundaries of ridiculous, getting louder with every distance each foot had crossed to reach the bottom of the stairs; thumping, agitated confusion vibrated on the wooden slats under the carpet until the door, with the king of all hangovers trudging over to answer the ironically soft knock beating on it. "Who is it?"

He copied the high pitch perfectly, not waiting for a reply to open it and dragging his feet to the bed smaller than his, plonking his heavy frame on the hard mattress while Vergil made himself at home on his couch next to his closet. "That's my line."

The mass on the bed squeezed the sides of his head to dull the bass line booming on the only frequency he picked up; the constant zinging would drive him insane up to a point, but there was little a whole box of Myprodol couldn't fix. "Still fits." Dante moaned as he scoured the only two cushions on the bed and propped himself against them with not a care in the world at having his loaned body on full display.

Vergil crossed one leg over the other, awkward in the black and yellow 'police tape' boxer shorts he'd found in his brother's room. "What happened last night?"

Dante spoke through the gaps in his fingers. "I was about to pull out my best moves and you fell asleep-"

"Not that." Vergil flicked his wrist in the space between, gesturing the swap that he'd prefer not to voice for his antsy nerves to seep through. "How did this happen?"

He bent his leg for his elbow to rest on; he anticipated having no energy for the rest of the day. "I don't know. We didn't go anywhere but Love Planet last night."

"You sure?"

Dante dropped his hand from his face into the too fleecy duvet in his lap that concealed nothing. "You have my memories, don't you?"

"Nope. Only my own, and I have until telling that door to shut up as reference."

As relaxed as they appeared, both twins were stiff in either's skin, thinking of the best way to handle their circumstances and unhappy with the mental results they'd conjured in the silence that befell; they picked their teeth and scratched their scalps trying to remember another trail of possible events and both came up empty, the only reasonable explanation lying on the stained, sticky grimy floors of the pink club. He couldn't believe he'd have to go back there after such a short time, but that building held all their answers. The demon on the couch looked as if he'd seen a ghost, turning paler with every passing second at having to replicate the very existence he was the clear-cut opposite of, or at least that's what it looked like on the surface; the morbid face altered to every face of sour, misinterpreted by anyone who'd bothered to stare longer than two seconds, and one sole way to distract him. "I would have gone easier on you had I known this would happen."

The sentiment was emphasised by his grimace as he shifted on the bed. "Why? Are you in pain?"

The smirk was beginning to appear. "A little."

"You get used to it."

Dante tiredly pushed his hair back hoping it'd stay in place. "Do I do this to you every time?"

"Yeah." Vergil picked his nails, feeling the heat from the bed. "Don't let your head get too big."

He tapped at the space next to him. "Too late. But I'll learn to be nicer."

The younger brother heaved his tired body out of the double couch and joined his naked body in the bed, attempting a close range for uncomfortability and failing, trailing a lone digit from the crook of his neck all the exposed way down to his ankle, keenly observing the skin prickle with his gentle touch. Dante could only watch, knowing it wasn't reacting under his command but shaken nonetheless, covering himself more to elude his own gaze elsewhere. "What do we do?"

"The last time both of us had spoken to someone was Hanson. Let's start there; maybe he knows something." The mention of Hanson left a bad taste in Vergil's mouth, leaving a vinegary expression in his wake for his brother to brunt, holding back a tiny giggle. "You're not still holding that grudge, are you?"

The same sultry finger turned vicious, pointing accusingly at the lounging devil. "He dares flirt with me-"

"You will take it and let me do all the talking. It's your territory after all." Unfortunately for them his logic was flawless. "You're me now. Act like it."

Dante gave up the fight with the flat lumps of material and went back onto his back for the last ounce of relief from the heaven-and-back headache that was his sibling's fault. He'd make sure to give him a strict lecture on how his drinking was negatively affecting the spinning household, but then again this was the last thing he'd expected to happen.

"You're calmer than I expected."

Vergil shifted closer to the hunk of skin, each expel of breath tightening his impressive physique; is this what people saw? Is this how he appeared in the presence of the unexpected? Was he truthfully getting turned on by his own body? "It could be worse."

It could be, and the simple swapping of bodies wasn't as complicated when you had a twin brother. "Your body couldn't be in worse hands, Vergil."

Dante pulled himself up and rested on his elbows, facing his kin and resting his head on the palm of his hand. "Well, worst case scenario of these things is reverting to normality learning you've picked up a bad habit or have some scars that go without explanation; the person taking over my body is someone I know and am close to, both physiologically and geographically, so the reason for panic is reduced enormously. I can keep an eye on you, not that I need to. I trust you to not take my body for a joy ride, or any ride for that matter." Vergil sniggered a little at the sternness to his own face, wondering how his brother had got the stoic look down so quickly. "Rest assured, the second you slip up, little Dante will get it."

The outline wasn't as vivid under the thick duvet, but it was incontestably there, ironically being the only part he chose to cover. "He gets offended by that. You can just call him Dante." Vergil tugged at the bedding to reveal himself. "Or Mr. Sniffles."

He pulled them back. "Wait, so you remember him rubbing you the wrong way?"

"He didn't do that to me. He was doing that to you." The duvet was pulled again.

Dante gave up, getting off the bed – with at long last, a clear head – and stopping in the middle of the space on route to the bathroom. "It wasn't the wrong way; besides you were too busy being the centre of attention for every living organism in the room so I decided to have fun on my own." His eyes followed the demon to copy his stance, flimsy boxers waving with the breeze not as frisky as he, but most of the true intent showing in the creases of his face. Maybe there were some things too powerful for a simple body-swap spell to carry over. The tension in the air broken by Vergil's new agility, unlocking his wardrobe and grabbing something at eye level. "Oh, one more thing-"

A white towel flew across the room and into Dante's hands. "Hold this, would you?"

Three quick successive knocks to the door. "You're naked, I know, and I don't care," and Nero let himself in, pushing the door enough to poke his head through the gap, catching Dante completely off guard under the blue scrutiny; for a second he forgot his place, his instincts begging for the material to be dropped but clutching it to him instead, recalling the other persona he was meant to play. "A bit cold there, Dante?"

Thinking up a comeback was quicker without having a reputation to uphold. "The towel is hiding most of it."

Nero brought a bit of his body through the space. "I'll believe that excuse as long as you'll use it."

The length it hid decreased as Dante bunched up the fibres into a big, fluffy ball to adequately hold the younger demon on a leash. "No excuse; you can always take it from me to scratch that bothersome itch."

Was it just him or was he extra feisty today? Their game had no end, but this would be a first that had him blushing first. "Now big boy uses some big words. You sound like your brother."

If only he knew. "Which one?" He nearly gestured with the hand holding the towel, switching them quickly with little damage done to the situation; pity. He pointed to the corner of the room, the general overall direction of where his room would be in terms of the house's floor plan which Nero misconstrued with the skin of his teeth. "That one?"

"Yes." There was only one, correct? Nero's mind wandered to the possibility of having to handle more than the two of them. His stomach burned. "The bossy, respectfully and powerfully arrogant son of a bitch across the timber sea."

"Me? Bossy? That's a bad word. I refute it." The familiar voice made him jump out of his skin, coasting into the room while Vergil moved to secure the door, using his respectfully powerful hand at the point of least leverage with the piece of wood daring to deny his command. "The other titles I will accept with our and your pleasure, Nero."

He gave Dante a betrayed look; being on the same page relied heavily on reading the same paragraph too. "Why didn't you say anyth-"

"How was I supposed to know he was there? Too busy with my big words, I was."

They were on a roll. "It's the 'son of a bitch' part that I don't quite get. Would you care to elaborate?" To add perfectly sliced strawberries to their carefully constructed sundae, Vergil teleported behind him, looking over his shoulder and locking eyes with his naked brother, flicking his head back and calling him forth. "As far as I recall, that isn't something you'd call someone slaving over the stove for your daily meals, does your filthy pubescent laundry and ironing, cleans your disaster of a room, and gives you lunch money to splurge at your so-called University."

Nero was now meat for their inappropriately positioned demonic sandwich, a fact he didn't mind in the least; he pretended to be awkward about it, writhing between their heated bodies to find a way out when all he did was touch enough skin to last him a good few days. The twin's however, wouldn't let that slide within a mile of their combined sanities, trapping his arms to his sides while each twin made sure all of him felt all of them. "You don't give me lunch money-"

"Not the argument I'm trying to put forward, but-" he stopped, looking at him over his shoulder, "-was that really all you paid heed to?" If there was one thing he couldn't resist, it was teasing the life out of the poor soul – he was at the soaking age of indoctrination, easily swayed by the sweetest outcome and not thinking with the head on his neck; he'd just turned eighteen a week ago, still ripe and confused on his likes and dislikes on the umbrella topic of intimacy with no shortage of males and females wagging their tail feathers in his direction, yet turning a blind eye owing to him not knowing what he was looking for. Although their banter had no long-lasting effects, every soft touch to his fragile body had an influence, jokingly or serious. There was no need for him to incline his head either way, but instances like these made his stubbornness difficult to maintain; a double team attack so early in the morning would propel him through a minimum of two projects he was currently busy with, thankful that it landed in his lap instead of having to ask for it. They would enjoy that much more, wouldn't they? Nero was wrenched from his thoughts to the present at the firm hands on his tummy, dipping under his flimsy waistband to claw at the lean skin of his hipbones and drawing a deep breath at the contact; Dante was too close to notice, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother for further instruction. "Do my hands trouble you that much?"

The middle man held his breath and peeled his hands off. "What are you doing? Dante's right th-"

"Vergil, enough." The older brother saw the flash of mini-anxiety, feigning a dramatic tone equipped with a hoarse voice and face close to tears, wiping them from his eyes. "I can't stand here and be fondled any longer."

Saved by an unseen bell, deep laughs from both sides set him free, getting a whiff of the deep vibrations of their chests before they parted; Dante made sure to reverse backward, holding tightly onto the piece of cloth to preserve his innocence in front of Vergil. He might not be too happy with Nero ogling his… well, him. He wouldn't be too thrilled either. The teen finally shared the reason for his visit, giving them both a demeaning, friendly once over. "I'm going to make breakfast and I'm in the mood to take orders." He turned to Vergil first because he was easiest. "You gonna have your usual eggs?"

He looked to Dante who nodded healthfully. "Please. Thank you."

You had to wring an answer out of the other one. "And what strawberry monstrosity do you want, Dante?"

Vergil did the same, trying to understand the words being mouthed to him. "You can just give them in a bowl-"

"There aren't sufficient carbs in strawberries alone, and I know you like to eat." Still tongue-twisted, he tried to read his brother's lips; why he couldn't think of saying it telepathically was frustrating. Nero tapped the invisible watch on his wrist, rushing his decision. "I don't have time to make this a brunch. The two of you will be going out today."

Out? Dante was tired of that word. "What do you mean 'out'?"

"I'll tell you over breakfast." He faced the exposed flesh, squeezing the bridge of his nose in having to make his mind for him; he always preferred making what they were in the mood for even if there was no way he'd admit it. "I'll make waffles for the two of us, how does that sound?" Dante mirrored his brother, nodding. "And for the love of everything that is holy, you better put some damn clothes on."

He could get used to the inhibition of Dante's words. "Are you afraid you'll want to eat me instead of breakfast?"

Oh snap! Vergil was officially sure he had nothing to worry about, but as per his manual, he had to bring the peace before Nero regretted the sloppy attempt at a comeback that would fall flat and have him red-faced for the rest of the day. "I'll make sure he puts something on."

The light-hearted death glares bounced off Dante like water on a duck's back, shifting his weight to either side of his hips; he swivelled, tapped Vergil on the jaw and got ready for a speedy retreat. "I knew there was a reason you're my favourite."

His young legs saved him by a millisecond as Vergil ran across the room and yanked the towel from his brother, throwing it at a closed door that clicked into place. God, the teenager was a menace when he wanted to be, but at least he had a cute side to the bite. "I wanted pancakes." He leaned forward as he faced his own birthday suit, emphasising the simplest of words Dante should have been able to decode. "What is so difficult about-" he drew all focus to his mouth, repeating the single word he'd uttered, "-PAN-CAKE-ZZ?"

Dante drummed at his temple with two fingers. "This was easier, you dicknozzle."

It came from thin air. "Dicknozzle?" Vergil's eyebrows shot up in surprise, more bemused than anything. "I need to remember that."

The demon who said it was more confused, looking around the room for another possible culprit to blame his outburst on. "I don't know where that came from-"

"Anyway, you were saying?" Vergil stepped forward, hands on his hips and drooping his shoulders.

"Huh? Saying what?"

"You said 'one more thing'."

Something was off. "Never mind that: why are you so pale?"

He was right. "The honest answer or can I bullshit you?"

"You can bullshit me all you want; I'll still figure it out."

Nothing could have prepared Dante for the own nonsense sprouting from his own mouth. "It's too light between my legs and I'm not okay with that."

The more he spoke, the harder it was to tell they were twins. "That I will sadly agree with." It was sarcasm's turn to take over, not able to take him seriously. "How do you walk with this thing?"

"I have thighs of steel."

"I would have gone with 'I'm okay with being horny all the time' but that can work too. Logically speaking, of course."

"You could be right."

Vergil's face couldn't be more distraught, morphing between the stages of constipation and being asked to dance at a wedding by a distant cousin who reeked of a week's worth of alcohol, and Dante became worried by what was running through his brain; it couldn't have been safe, assuming it was the burden of having to be someone else for who knew how long. "It's not that bad, Dante; we'll get to the bottom of it."

And as usual, he was dead wrong. "Oh, I'm fine – I'm practicing my resting bitch face; AKA your normal face AKA the face of hell AKA the disappointed mother in law AKA the face ewes give when it's mating season and there's one ugly sheep left in the herd."

Damn, he'd given it more than enough thought, but he was unsettled by how he knew what the last one looked like. "I don't look like that."

"Yes, you do. A little pouty mouth for twenty three hours a day. I don't know where the concentration comes from."

He gave into temptation. "I have to ask about the other hour."

Vergil gave him an obvious look like he was supposed to know. "Jacking off in the bathroom. I think I'd prefer not to know what face you pull during that time."

Dante expected something completely different, and as a result burst into uninhibited, raucous laughter, folding himself over at the ache that developed in the pit of his stomach, holding onto it in fear of his insides ripping out of him in their own version of disbelief; his twin was so sweet and naïve, attributing one hour of his day to its dedicated spot of respite – if only he knew the real number. Hell, he might just find out. "It's so much easier to laugh in this body. I hate it."

Vergil tasted something funny in his mouth again, waving circles in front of his stomach unamused at the unnecessary tightness. "It feels like there's a storm inside me, everywhere; it's really uncomfortable."

"You get used to it." He missed it, but to deny the liberation he experienced would be foolish. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't know what's going on-"

"You need the bathroom. Trust me."

"Really?" Nope, the erection wasn't the biggest giveaway. "No shit."

Vergil steered his line of vision to his non-existent one, shaking his hips to illustrate his idea. "It isn't as well known in the robot population-"

"Do you have to go overboard with everything? LOOK AT THIS!"

Technically speaking, it wasn't his fault. There was no shame in being aroused; it seemed over the top owing to their twinsane shared girth. "I can support it and am used to it. It's your own choice to sleep without clothes. That's the only reason you're in pain."

Feeble deduction. "We both do."

"And the first step is admitting the problem, Vergil." He looked to Dante wondering if he got the joke and was astonished at the beaming smile aimed at the floor, enhancing his gorgeous features exponentially. "Maybe you should give smiling a try from time to time: you're incredibly handsome when you do."

Much to more surprise it didn't fade completely, but merely shifted to a moveable position to reply. "I don't smile. You know that. But I have a sick feeling I'll be doing that all day."

"You're me now; act like it." Not counting the single bright colour they donned and the hairstyles they sported, the other way to tell them apart was the movability of their faces; if it moved, it was Dante, plain and simple. All other instances, Vergil was present; he saw learning his brother's various animations as his main objective for as long as he could endure or until time ran out, whichever came first. In a way, he was looking forward to it, but not in the conventional sense of becoming better at it; he was intrigued at the extent to which he could stretch his face and nothing more. "Can I have a hug before you go?"

He made it seem like he was off to fight in a war. "Why?"

"I want to feel what it feels like to hug me."

"Not with this boner you don't."

As if that would stop him: Vergil used the speed to his advantage, wrapping around Dante's slim waist as it always did and pulled him closer by the small of his back, each growing accustomed to the idea of seeing a reflection versus the other twin. It wasn't something they could get used to, but in the short time they could tolerate it. For Nero's sake. He was too smart to not pick up the anomalies, so their acting would have to be on point; he hated when Dante went to Love Planet to binge away his stress and he'd be even more upset to hear he dragged his straight-laced twin along for the rollercoaster ride of mutual drunkenness – him finding out was the last straw and they needed to make sure it didn't happen. The tacit thoughts flowed between their close, connected stares, mute at the repercussions they didn't need to think about; there was no option for failure – just thinking of the infuriation brought Dante's migraine back from the depths of his subconscious, flinching into Vergil's bare chest as the thudding began a second time. "I'll grab some painkillers from downstairs. It's going to be okay."

The younger held his sibling's face tenderly, placing a tiny peck on his forehead and resuming his previous position, hoping his brother wouldn't notice. "It seems like you need to remind yourself- OH NO YOU DON'T!"

Dante swatted his hands off his butt. "WHAT?"

He didn't break the embrace completely, which was nice. He didn't like being nice. Stupid body. "That's not how it works, Dante. You fell asleep, you missed out."

"It's my body." Vergil went for the crook of his neck and mapped the path down to his collarbone and back up again, sycophantic husk tickling the shell of his ear. "I can help."

"I know that, but you're dead from the waist down this early in the morning. Throw your sex-tempered tantrum somewhere else."

Yes, because that was just going to happen; after all these years, he still hadn't learned the basics of Dante's thinking. "I don't need that to piss you off. I can do it up here… where you like it most-" Vergil traced a digit over his brother's lips, following closely behind with his tongue and holding his gaze, melting his organs in an instant by playing his own tricks on himself; he kissed Dante mad and deep, his own hands and legs failing in function at the sudden blitzkrieg of his favourite moves, overwhelming the sense of urgency in his kiss and breaking apart as Vergil's brain thrashed on the collapsing concrete of his ascetic mindset that he desperately needed to fortify, "-and then disappear like the asshole you are."

They replayed the same routine from before; Dante ran for the towel as Vergil cowered behind his door, holding it closed as he made his exit in case his older brother decided to run after him forgetting his was stark naked. He tended to do that on the best of days.


	2. Not getting caught

Nero was quickly getting busy in the kitchen: three beaten eggs with a touch of full cream milk, salt and pepper stood at one corner of the marble lower-tier counter next to three pieces of raw streaky bacon, chopped chives, sliced mushrooms, grated Swiss and cheddar cheese and ground parmesan; at the other corner sat a huge metal bowl of smoothed batter containing more eggs, flour, milk, oil, sugar and salt, baking powder and vanilla essence, resting in the crisp cool of an ice bath alongside smaller plastic bowls of chunky and thinly sliced strawberry pieces, a heating glass bottle of maple syrup and a can of whipped cream. With all of the ingredients triple checked at the ready – like the obsessive compulsive chef-in-training he was – he grabbed a few spices from Vergil's secret stash and set to work on his sucking up meal, complete with mimosas and fresh smoothie mix presently chilling in the fridge.

His story was short and sweet: most of his life was a mystery before moving in with the twins at age fourteen, knowing only that he was a troublemaker in high school owing to his matured intelligence at such a young age; after receiving a dreaded phone call by one of Dante's buddies in the police force, they took him in as his temporary legal guardians where he avoided juvenile detention with the possibility of serving jail time when he reached eighteen years of age. They sheltered him between the lines of fine print, countless reports noting his immense strength and erratic temper to anyone and anything within his reach, near-fatally harming his classmates on more than one occasion and facing expulsion with the inability to graduate if his behaviour wasn't treated accordingly. The police officer dealing with him noted too many similarities with the demon slayers, spelling out word for word his chances of survival should they not take him in. The original plan was six months under their care, giving him the wakeup call of a lifetime and a peek into their domain as long-time powerful demonic entities, sharing their world that disallowed a single word to be uttered to anyone, and when the time came for them to part ways it was Vergil who stood up, refusing to hand him to do the government's bidding finding a dead end job behind a desk when he knew that sparkle in his eye craved the fast pace they had exposed to him and taking the responsibility to train him and continue the progress he'd been making in every facet of his life – he became more sociable and approachable, triggering a full three hundred and sixty degree turn in his development and overall presence in school.

Parent-teacher-learner meetings were always a kicker, walking confidently to each of his teachers with both twins on either side of him making the room swoon in delight as they glowed from booth to booth, acting thoughtful and asking serious questions and receiving positive, albeit flirtatious, feedback as confirmation they were indeed doing their job right, as temporary custodians and role models. At seventeen, graduating at the top of his class a year prior, reams of flyers and application forms streamed their mailbox from colleges and Universities wanting a piece of him to eventually grace their alumni, and because of his new hobby of travelling with the slayers and slowly but surely becoming a hunter, he had no time to think over his future. Numerous times he'd pledged to fight with them for a living, but they warned against it being too unstable for his age; the best thing for him would be to study and put that incredible brain and creativity to good use, but in what?

Both their influence drew him to the kitchen in style, observing their prowess over appliance, utensil and ingredients that emulated jaw-dropping cuisine out of random foodstuffs in storage; one of the other major reasons he chose food as his career was the happiness and content it brought either twin and the sole place in the three-bedroomed house where they mutually agreed on everything. The nights where they both cooked dinner for him was like a program directly from the expensive porn channel, his eyes failing to keep up with the bustle of half-naked muscle prancing around the huge space – yes, there was a bigger percentage ratio of non-covered to covered skin – bringing their masterpiece to the table to respect the one of the only three rules they had: they always ate dinner together. Through the years, it was broken once: three of Nero's ex-classmates ambushed him in an alley after a late baseball practice to later be found bleeding and losing consciousness by a few stray demons who knocked on Dante's doorstep informing them of his predicament. He spent four days in the hospital recovering from a broken jaw, a few cracked ribs and two broken wrists with no leads for the students who carried out the attack; the fifth night he was able to come home, wrapped tightly in bandages and casts like a mummy and two smiling creatures on the other end of the dining table. Nero assumed it was the food after no dinner for a week, but he would soon realise, much later, that it was the screams of the three idiots in their basement that brought the satisfaction to their faces. No one had messed with him since.

Nero was nearing the close of his first year of culinary arts, practicing every moment his guardians would allow, which was how the second rule came into play: he who wakes up first must make breakfast. Being an early riser meant that it would be his job by default, yet he still ventured to both their rooms making sure that it was fine he did so, masking it by their request of choice for their first meal. When he listened for any sound marking progress and came up with silence, he would have to wait until their mockery took more steps at coming to a close before he could start; there was nothing worse than lukewarm waffles or dried out egg by reheating. He served them fresh, always. Another plan would be to wait for them and force them to set the table while he finished their plates, but the ogling dream was crushed as Vergil raced down the stairs almost tripping to some painful scars or massive ceramic carpet burn, finding his balance on the floor and standing in place for a couple of seconds to ensure his gravitational equilibrium. He heard the waffle pan going berserk by two measured scoops of batter dipping onto the non-stick surface, waiting for the louder fizz signalled by its closing under the careful eye of their creator; the twin perched on a stool opposite the boy leaning onto the counter to pick at the prepped ingredients. "You look like you're having fun."

He smiled, showing off his impressive pearly canines, brought back to the incident in Dante's room. "I love cooking for the two of you; you know that."

"I do, but I like hearing you say it." Vergil opened his mouth and pointed at the fruit with his eyes.

Nero grabbed a whole portion from the fridge, plucking one and feeding it to the grazing demon. "You always say you hate the stuff."

"I'm turning over a new leaf, trying to understand my brother more, yada yada yada." He used his finger this time, pointing to the hole. "Quickly, before he sees." He couldn't turn his caregiver down, pulling a fatter one out of the plastic bucket and passing it over to him to angle his head underneath, crossing his eyes at the full ripened fruit as he willed his jaw to unlock for the entire thing to be devoured at once as Nero tugged at the stem and watched the juices flow from the corners of his mouth while the girth put up as much of a fight as it could behind his lips; he grabbed a piece of roller towel and handed it over before laughing by himself as he removed the first two waffles from the pan and taste-testing from one of them, cutting a piece and taking a bite out of it then handing it to the wet-mouthed starved man in arms range. "Ig kewagh heng eaghiah khu gnaik hig gho orh ogh ugh."

He knew it was still piping hot. The bastard. "What… the hell… did you just say?"

Vergil continued to chew, getting the fluffy goodness to his tummy while giggling. "It would've been easier to make this for all of us."

It would have, and he would have suggested it owing to being the only meal he'd have to go out of his way to prepare, but his brother truly loved his health more than ease of life. "We're out of fruit and you're supposed to hate strawberries."

He shrugged, folding the paper towel neatly on the counter and using his thumb to rub the excess juice into his mouth; he chewed the pad to claim everything, taking his newly acquired soft lips for a spin. "I do it on purpose; I love the stuff." The waffle was good, he'd admit; he was looking forward to stealing pieces off Vergil's plate. "Our grocery bill would be much higher of we catered for extra of anything in this house."

He reached over and stole another piece, looking Nero dead in the eyes and nodding at all the boxes being ticked by his skill. "Do you not like the eggs?"

"Are you kidding? He loves the stuff."

He poured two more scoops into the pan, closing it for half of the first batch. "Who are you taking about?"

Shit, was most of his day going to be idiot mistakes like these? They could be masked for sure, but his brother would surely get annoyed by it. He probably wouldn't be doing the same each time. "I occasionally refer to myself in the third person, pronoun and all; keeps me grounded."

An eyebrow shot up on Nero's pale, flawless face; Vergil equally matched it, voiding his attempt at quizzical intimidation. "That makes no sense."

"Of course it does." It was counterintuitive, actually. "I like reminding myself of who I am in case I fuck things up." He might need to do that more often than talking for as long as the spell would last; thinking before speaking was out of his league of expertise, which could be a huge problem for his limited vocabulary as well as a recap on his straight-spined manners. "Don't mind me, I'm talking to myself."

Nero had long accepted that his logic suited only himself at the best and worst of times. "Okay; would you mind talking to yourself while putting on a shirt?"

"And why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I told Dante to put a shirt on. You should too."

Vergil dabbed his mouth with the paper towel, shaking his head adorably by pouting his lips all the way through. "No way in hell," he said, toying with the waistband of the uncomfortable boxers he was forced to wear. "Unless this is offending you, which I doubt it is or you can provide proper justification for the offence, I will be wearing nothing but this. Dante is a little buffer than I am, so he can be clothed. I'm a puppy compared to that monster."

Nice one. Self-promotion; so typical that it was practically a giveaway. "So, you're okay with me taking off my shirt right now?" His pants were already ridiculously low, the bottom of his black Mickey Mouse shirt hitting the drawstring of his matching cotton bottoms; he folded it just a tad, bending his head to calculate the appropriate stretch of skin he'd use to barter his side of the argument, lifting it higher and higher until his belly button and four of his defined abs were on show, the V at his hip flexors vivid as day for the wrong brother to be feasting on and grabbing each side of his shirt in his palms. "To fit in?"

The seated twin unconsciously bit at his lip following the fibres the more it peeled from his skin. "You can take off your jammies and neither of us would care." He knew he shouldn't be thinking it, but he was secretly crossing his fingers for option two. Moreover, he paid more attention to the possibility of Vergil ever saying the word 'jammies'. "Although I would exercise caution with Dante; he's a horny ticking time bomb in the shape of a cute, fluffy bunny."

The twin's eyes flung to the sliver of black material being handed to him, grasping it in his dirty hand as Nero went to wash his hands in the sink; he was devilishly proud of the over-the-counter view, highlighting how much stronger he was becoming at the jobs he was able to attend. The tiny gym in the basement could be the cause of it all, but he was impressed at the sleek definition of his body, shapely and toned instead of the wimpy, undernourished kid on their doorstep four years ago. "Dante? You're worse than he is."

"Since when? Look at the innocence emanating from this face!"

Was he serious? "Every night for the past-"

"He told you to get dressed, Vergil."

Dante stood in the centre of the living room watching the pair and their friskiness play out, giving a stare to the cloth in Vergil's hand: he made the simple connection judging from their faces and his twin's confectionary crusts outside his mouth, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk itching at his lips. Now in a navy-blue t-shirt and a reasonably smaller bulge under a pair of black running shorts, Dante stood at full height with a deathly serious face very unlike his free-spirited nature, looking gravely at the marble counter between them to avoid both their stares simultaneously. He walked over, taking the shirt from the loose clutch and folding it neatly, setting it on the counter whilst he gawked two blazing holes into Nero's chest. "And I told him I wasn't going to."

The younger's eyes curved, flicking upward to the merry version of his former self. "If I had to do it, then you have to do it."

"Or…" A simple reach to his chest, a clasp and a tug sent the shirt ripping at the Nexus seams, bits of strong cotton flying everywhere as the fibres flailed onto what was left of it, falling to the floor with a single tear down the back and nothing else; Nero had seen Dante shirtless a million times, but never did he see Vergil as Dante shirtless. The physiology of the two brothers combined under one supple life form was a marvel that left Vergil speechless, wanting to reattach the torn clothing or fetch another to conceal the obvious blend of their bodies that was missing in his image. Or was it? He hadn't taken a good look yet. "Problem solved." He got off the stool to take the shirt to the boy's room. "I hate that damn sweater anyway."

He left in a flash and returned quicker, bumping into his brother on the way to the kitchen. "I couldn't find anything else."

The twins floated around the space weaving fluidly around the chef at work over three pans at once, simmering Vergil's three-fold omelette with all of its ingredients in one, slow cooking the bacon in another, and browning the waffles to a crisp for two tall towers of maple-strawberry carbohydrate goodness. Nero shuffled with them as they grabbed cutlery from the cupboards and drawers to set the table, dancing around his form while he worked the sweat off his brow at keeping himself composed with the two nearly bare creatures waltzing with their refined physiques holding the most normal of household items and looking like models for Vogue Paris. They boy had chosen wisely, two foodstuffs that required more preparation than cooking attention for him to divert his eyes to the inexpensive show they were putting on for him, bending exclusively low while planting the placemats, knives and forks onto their respective spots at the huge dinner table. Vergil turned, connecting his stare with intense lethargy as he wiggled his bum for Nero to ogle; Dante was on the opposite side of the table adjusting the seat cushions, lifting his head at the manly giggle emanating from the stove tracing his line of sight to his own posterior, watching its misuse and twisting his mouth at his sibling's originality. It seemed to have amused the teen enough to sway his focus back to the food, pulling out some warm fresh waffles and doing the first fold in the eggs after placing a single streak of bacon in the centre. The older spoke softly as they both folded napkins, sheathing the eating utensils into the tiny pockets they had made. "That wardrobe is filled with clothes and you had to pick the one shirt I hated. You have a reputation to uphold here, and quite frankly, I did not get all tingly on sight." Vergil walked around the table, standing next to his twin while running a single digit across his stomach as he leaned with his back on the oak. "Stay like this; enjoy the freedom while you can; who knows what time we'll be home."

Why did Dante have to be so comfortable getting touched? "It's distressing."

"Get used to it. I won't turn into a sweat shop because your nipples are getting hard from the cold." His skin bristled in gooseflesh on the line drawn at the elastic. "Maybe if your heart wasn't made of ice you'd enjoy your core body temperature."

Dante glanced at the finger. "Need I remind you I am in your goddamn body, Dante?"

"Then you should be fine."

"I never said I wasn't."

"Then why are you moaning?"

He tugged at the contact, linking their index fingers on autopilot as he moved to the other shoulder. "Don't say that to me with a straight face." They were both really good players at this game, but their outfits gave no leeway to hide the results of the play by play electricity coursing through their veins; the effects of last night were still as strong, and neither had gotten the proper grasp over the other's body in the fifty six minutes since they woke. The only way to make it through the morning was to stay as far away from one another as possible, fixating their concentration on everything else available to them. "Can we please just eat in peace?"

"Not really." Vergil fluffed his hair forward only for it to be pushed back by the other as a reminder of who he was; Dante tried copying him and pulled a disgruntled face at the strands that tickled his cheeks and the tip of his nose, directing a blow of wind from his lips to waft a tuft of silver. "Do you have any idea how many strawberries you're going to eat?"

Vergil was ecstatic to say the least; so much fruity goodness would last him their trip to the Love Planet, and he was weirdly excited. "You say it as if I hate them; I can stomach them but not like you can."

The internal smile decided to surface, contorting to something resembling a grin and cracking his brother's smooth skin. "I don't have a problem with the eggs, but I know you will have a problem that I don't have a problem."

"And I do." The satisfaction at the mutual pain was unparalleled. The true older brother had no control over any field day the other chose to have. "How about you just eat the eggs and I eat the waffles?"

"We can do that. I'll just observe when he gives me my mandatory lecture about all the carbs he's making me eat."

Dante took too much pleasure at the first time his younger brother wouldn't be scoffing his face in red fruit forgetting his own predicament at having his all-time favourite breakfast devoured by that same maniac in wolf's clothing. "He does that?"

Vergil nodded comically, indirectly pursing his lips as he ran his tongue over his teeth; they had had countless meals together, and not once had he picked up on the scolding? What on earth was he focusing on? What, in his right mind, was so important at nine in the morning? "You'd get it too if you weren't allergic to fun." He slowly moved forward and kissed Dante on his collarbone for good luck, out of view of the cook that carefully flipped the egg onto a plate that was decorated in a criss-cross balsamic reduction to compliment the salty three-fold creamy delicious monstrosity topped off with crumbling herbed feta, and in that moment he understood why it was his brother's number one. Nero plucked out a few more waffles to add to the stack, mixing his homemade strawberry sauce with some whipped cream and adding some chunks for extra texture; he continued to stir, tilting his head slightly at the arrival on the other side of the counter ready to assist in any way. "As you can see we're having a PG18 morning today."

The calmer twin looked through long eyelashes at the boy mid-taste of the cream; Nero scraped his finger with his teeth, pulling it between his lips before he realised he was being watched by a shade of serene he'd never seen on the younger twin. "Will it bother you?"

He tilted some more, keeping it at the corner of his mouth as his eyes travelled down the uninterrupted serving barred by the table. "I'll need to concentrate on eating my food, that's all."

"That will be difficult considering the two full meals right in front of you."

His brain wasn't with him on the important stuff, but it was that quick mouth that would get him out of trouble. "Vergil-"

"I'm just kidding." He leaned on a pillar. "One full meal."

Nero chuckled. "And one dessert."

Vergil's head piped up quick as a flash, wanting him to take responsibility to the comment the twins clearly heard. "What?"

Did he say that out loud? "Nothing," he said, slowly turning his head back to Dante and being caught by the blazing stare in his direction. A quick blush and his focus was back on the final touches, not caring for the plating to be fancy but rather plentiful, appealing to the eye and palate and saving on the dishwashing for later. Nero handed over the stack of pancakes, the accompanying flavoured whipped cream and sauce and fruity chunks into the hands of the waiting helper, stacking the condiments on his arms and trying to balance its dispersed weight on the uneven stretch of his muscled skin; Vergil was having too much fun as the mix of piping hot and freezing cold attacked each limb and tickled his senses, mockingly gritting his teeth behind his lips against the opposing temperatures as he transported the meal along the set tiled path, placing the food carefully onto the thicker placemats to protect the table and almost taking a bow as Dante clapped sarcastically from his perch to draw his attention, again recapping him of the tight, straight-laced skin he wore – not being able to have fun in the trivial was difficult, and being reminded of that at every corner of a possible gag was ashamedly saddening. He looked to his brother and pouted out of sight of the boy, getting two raised eyebrows and a parted mouth by his own face and leaving the situation for the outstretched plate of yellow perfection hovering just off the second-tier counter ledge; Vergil grasped the steaming mound and took his time recalling who sat where, somehow forgetting his spot completely owing to the clashing wires in his brain. Dante stepped in, setting it in his old spot on the left before venturing to the kitchen to help with the drinks. Today was going to be a bad day and it hasn't even started.

Nero returned with two massive jugs, one watery and summery and another thick and mushy smelling of coconut shavings; the coffee pot was brimming in Dante's hand, carrying its hot contents with no care in the world while the other held the mandatory pitcher of water, lemon, and ice Vergil always gulped like he needed to take pregnancy tests all day. When all had been successfully transferred and enough heavenly smells were swirling in the huge dining room, they took their seats in sync, Nero following shortly after the twins for reasons only he would know; again, Vergil had to be prompted to not sit in the empty placing but at the plate already dished for him, baking the pores in and around his mouth as his twin slowly went for the waffles, landing two onto his plate just as Nero attacked it with everything on the side, expertly distributing it the way he always did- "Oh wait, hold on." He quickly ran to the freezer and grabbed the scoop from the top drawer, digging out two flawless spheres and dropping them in the nest of air and boiled sugar. "Why didn't you say anything?"

It looked absolutely gorgeous, but it was too much. "Cream and ice cream?"

Nero dressed his own, using considerably less to cover his naked waffle. "That's how you eat it."

Dante stood in place shocked by what he had to eat to maintain his new look; he defeatedly plonked himself on his brother's seat, wishing he had the comfort of his eggs that were happily being devoured next to him. "There won't be time to burn this off."

That was a lie, of course, owing to all the energy he'd hope he'd spend telep- wait. Dante couldn't teleport. He'd refused to learn a long time ago. He cursed a light dusting of profanities like icing sugar across the space directly in front of him. "Gosh, has Vergil gotten into your head again?" Oh, if only he knew – if he was in his right mind he might have ceded a polite chuckle. He wasn't going to have a good day, and he'd planned it so well. "You'd never say you eat like that judging on how you look."

The twins snapped up. "Did you just give him a compliment?"

Nero nodded as he swallowed a big chunk, wiping his mouth to reply to Vergil's obscenely wide eyes. "He's being really cute today. I don't know what's gotten into him."

No way was he going to let Vergil be a better Dante. "I was cute this morning."

The boy cleaned the inside of his mouth as he smiled to the confused twin, angling his head to dodge the expanding atmosphere around the younger. He'd never seen a glow like it, hiding behind his breakfast instead of taking a badge to his Girl Scout sash; it was utterly adorable. "You're cute every morning. I kinda got used to it."

Vergil? Cute? Not in the same sentence and not over his dead body. "Will you at least give him his lecture? To make me feel better?"

Nero scrunched his face at the constructed tower across the table, his brain whizzing for a fitting scolding as 'it's too fattening' was seemingly pointless to his incredible physique; this was officially the longest time he'd been in their presence this naked, and what he anticipated to be a dreary nineteen hours began to look up as far as the heavens. "I'm in a really good mood. I'll give him the day off. Possibly tomorrow too."

It was amazing what a few-second trip to the kitchen could do. He shook his head and tisked one time too many, reaching for the water he was forced to drink. "The one thing I look forward to."

To his right, he could see his twin out of the corner of his eye sniggering as he took his last bite of his breakfast, having his plate wrenched from under his fork for the mayhem to begin again, only with less shock and horror; Dante rested his head over his laced fingers as he was being tended to, each movement embedded with purpose and tenacity at getting every detail of it correct. That was Nero for you, taking pride in the tiniest of elements for it to be trampled in the coming seconds. "Schadenfreude," he said, setting the food in front of the hybrid who tucked into it almost immediately to dodge his slot to speak while looking between them. "Is that how you say it? Deriving pleasure from his pain or misfortune." He tore off a piece and dipped it in cream and syrup, sucking his fingers one at a time as Dante lowered his view after being caught.

This was just plain unfair; he needed to make more noise with his plate. "I do like that."

Vergil's ominous, stony low voice was worse on two occasions: one, when he woke up; two, when he was jealous. Dante knew this, and so did Nero; he never did too well upon inspection, and for most of it he relied on the amalgamated death in every crevice of his face for the opposition to slowly step backward and retreat to a different corner, but now under new management, who knows how far he'd be able to take the new frozen environment and loosen him up as punishment for how he wasn't abusing his skin. The boy furrowed his eyebrows at the myriad of faces he pulled for his internal monologue, going for the mimosa jug and pouring a healthy serving, sipping coyly as he kept his eyes on the older dancing around in his mind and short-circuiting as he bounced against the walls of his skull. "You're awfully talkative this early."

His egg was done and he was starving, dodging the water and going straight for the boiling liquid tar. "Can't I be in a good mood too?"

Was that possible? They turned their heads and looked at each other stumped for an answer. "You're quieter when you're in a good mood." Nero wasn't wrong, but the longer he deliberated the more the hand on his thigh went unnoticed, the tiny shift to Dante's chair moving closer waking him out of his daydream; Vergil was careful to not draw the attention over the table to the contact but merely giving his brother a cautionary glance which was meant for him to retract his hand. He didn't. "It's like the two of you have switched bodies or something."

Vergil choked on his coffee.

And Dante spoke, calm and cool as a cucumber in banana skin. "What makes you think that?"

Nero shrugged, piercing his last pancake from the tower with his fork. "Both of you are chirpier. Which could either be having a really good time last night or you're planning to have a good one tonight." It was cold, but he had an idea: the initial pouring of coffee melted both the syrup and ice cream and mingled into the sole thing he assumed heaven to taste like, rolling his eyes at the pure genius of his actions. "Which is it?"

After last night, Dante had no more say over their evening activities, excluding their mandatory jobs. "No plans. Just me and an extended appointment with the bath tub to make up for lost time."

He took a huge bite for the heat of the coffee not to wear off. "Mhmmm?" Some of his improvised brilliance ran down the sides of his mouth, the twins watching closely at the lucky caffeine. "See? Vergil takes baths, not you."

Strike number two – it wasn't so easy, was it? "Yeah, Dante. Don't steal my thunder like that."

They took a sip simultaneously from their glasses not wanting to speak anymore as Nero shuffled collecting the dishes. "Should I call the hospital or the asylum?"

 _Whatever you do, don't laugh; it will come out nervous and you end up sounding like a deranged monkey._ "Both – I don't think they'll admit us to the same place. For the sake of everyone's sanity." He left with a cute smile, easily stabilising the stack of dishes they'd used and began packing the dishwasher.

Vergil turned his gaze to his hazy-eyed sibling. _I'm too scared to ask how you know that._ And then something clicked. _Wait, you can laugh?_

Dante smirked, his hand softening at the higher altitude. _Living three minutes longer than you had its benefits. And yes, I can; I prefer not to unless I'm unmistakable happy, which is almost never-_

 _What the hell is your hand doing on my leg?_

He bit his lip. _I think you may have gotten aroused by the waffles._

Either he was honest or this was payback for last night. _Me? You're controlling the body._

 _Like hell I am. I can't do anything in this._

Vergil's bottom lip curled down nearly sorry for his dilemma. _Is it too warm and happy? Are you not comfortable?_

 _Other than you buying clothes one size too small, it's not that bad._

 _It's meant to keep everything together._

Like he anticipated his most prized possession to fall off at any given moment. _My hips are suffocating._

 _If you're hard, not really._

He wasn't. Well, not yet at least. _If I'm hard, everyone in this house would know it by now-_

"Are you two doing that mind-twin thing again? Because I know it will annoy you if I ask you to repeat it." Nero got back into his seat as something began to buzz in the kitchen.

"We were talking about a plan for today."

"With your hand on his leg? Really starting to feel left out here, guys."

Vergil had a smug look on his face ignoring the hand that was clearly in his brother's danger zone. _Told you._

Dante's smile got bigger. _All he sees is Dante making the moves on Vergil. Nothing else._

He couldn't remember the last time he had to be conscious for an entire day. _Well, shit._

Dante released the delectable grip, straightening himself as a mug of warm coffee was being offered to him; Nero topped Vergil's, giving them all sufficient time to relax and letting their food make its course through their bodies to slowly turn into the energy they would need powering them through the rest of the day. "So what do you need us to do?"

He instantly turned to him, aiming the next comment through his chest as if what he was about to say was his fault. "Your suits are ready. You need to go for your fittings."

It was Vergil who replied, puzzled on the direct attack to his kin. "Suits?"

Oh, the photographic memory was a fickle, fine bitch. "Fine; I'll recap." He literally rolled up his sleeves and stretched his arms across his chest, perking each muscle individually, clicking his neck as he massaged his shoulders for his showcase that he was proud of. "Mind you, this was two weeks ago, and I knew this would happen so I've been practicing." Once his throat was clear, both elbows were on the table ready for battle as the thinking face waited for the green light from his brain. He pointed to Dante. "So you said, 'Why do we not have suits?' and then you said-" His finger switched twins and his voice deepened slightly, "-'Because you don't need one.' And then you said-" His voice went high again, "'You never know when we might need a suit – like a surprise wedding or something,' and then you rolled your eyes at him, saying 'We don't have friends' and then you-" he switched to Dante again, "backed your reasoning up with 'Oh come on, they could be fun'-" to which he mimicked Dante to the T, swinging his arms outward with a crinkled face, "-and then Vergil was all like 'Name me another time we'd need it, Dante' and then you got all red in the face with a tiny vein popping in your forehead trying to think for another answer, and the only thing you could come up with was 'At our funeral.' To which you said 'We can't die,' and then you said 'Someone else's funeral,' where Vergil repeated himself, saying 'We don't have friends.' Then your ingenious brain said 'Nero's funeral,' to which I had to pipe in saying-" His voice went normal again. "-'I won't be having one.'" He pointed to Dante. "And then you were all tantrummy, saying 'Iwantone Iwantone Iwantone Iwantone Iwantone'-" adding a subtly obvious babyish squeak to his voice, "over and over again, and then Vergil finally said 'If you're getting one, I have to get one,' like that was the only deal breaker, which was very odd. Anyway, you were all like 'Then get one' and then he said 'I don't need one' and then Dante was saying 'Of course you do. It'll go nicely with that damn chiselled jaw of yours,' and then you got all weirdly serious, saying 'You're actually complimenting yourself and guilt-tripping me into getting one.' Dante was all over it, like 'Is it working?' and you could see on your face you gave in. You were all high and mighty and said 'I won't be making the arrangements' and then I said I would, granted that you'd see things through and then you were either clapping or snapping your fingers, I'm not too sure-" He showed off his seal-clapping and snapping skills, moving wildly on his side of the table the way Dante would, "-all happy in a count me in type of way. And then Vergil puffed out his chest like a bird in the wild-" He did a fine example, placing his balled fists on his ribs and pouting his lips for a suitable beak, "-saying 'I don't want to waste your time' like I'd mention something like this to procrastinate in the first place. I then asked what kinds you wanted and you said 'Basic black – I don't want to glow in the dark' and then Dante said 'Same for me but with a fitted white shirt. In case it rains.'" He stopped his rampage. "Wait, no, sorry, he said 'Thank you, good gravy boats of Valhalla' and then he told me about the white shirt and the rain. I wanted to make sure you wanted everything black and no navy and then you said 'I have a navy suit' and Dante was all 'You fuck. Since when?' and then you said 'For years; you need one good one at least.' At this point Dante was legitimately fuming that you gave him all that crap and he was all like 'YOU JUST SAID YOU DON'T NEED ONE!' and you were all shiny on your pedestal replying like nobody got shit on you, saying 'No, I said YOU, as in Dante, don't need one. You never asked if I had one,' being all grammatical and pissing him off even more, acting like it was common sense. Dante was all like 'You're ridiculous' and then you said 'It's been over two thousand years. You should know that fact by now.' And now we are here, on the day of days for the feud of anguish and torture to be put to rest so both of you can have fucking suits. Vergil's second, of course. Let's not fucking forget that!"

His fingers blinked to determine which brother he was openly mocking; he managed to change to every voice when called for, giving a first-hand perspective to the ridiculousness of the situation at that point, ensuring they sounded preposterous on playback; Nero's signs and signals throughout made the twins believe he spent way too much time in the house with them and might need a scheduled holiday come the end of the second semester. It was discernibly exaggerated as a ploy to show his own annoyance at the two brothers, and he quite thankfully endured the glitching that followed his performance, reacting to the messiness draining out of his system; the display was so far from what he was that it was admirable in getting his point across, and neither could deny the happiness of his misinterpretation.

Vergil looked at him sadly. "I don't sound like that."

Dante wouldn't dare reciprocate the action, but- "He got my snapping on lockdown though."

"Oh yeah? You blue-footed booby!" Nero didn't notice strike three, making a rule to never intervene in their banter and trying desperately not to laugh at their approval of his sketch.

Like water off Dante's wet back. "It's the second best kind of booby."

Nero was in hysterics on the other side of the table, quickly gaining composure before the tears welled, downing his coffee for a painful burn down his throat. "We all pinkie swore on it, and today's the day."

Having to relive that lit the fuse again, but as evident in the retold tale, there weren't grounds for Vergil to be angry, even if that face suited him best; being calm may drive him nuts until they got to Hanson, but it was perfect practice for emulating the fizzing glass bottle that never popped sitting to his right. "What time?"

"She's closing early today. One o' clock." He looked to the clock above their fireplace. Ten thirty – just enough time for them to get ready; he laughed at his own joke, knowing how long they usually took with their hair. "Can you make it?"

Dante did the same, nodding. If he could get dressed quickly, there might be enough time for his hair. He giggled. "We have one thing to do before that, but that shouldn't take long."

He halted mid-sip. "What do you have to do before?"

Vergil twiddled his thumbs under the table, avoiding the look he knew he'd get by telling the truth; he might not be at the receiving end, but seeing its effect on the boy was burnt into his retina having been exposed to it so many times. He hated it when he went to the pink/purple bar owing to having been dragged out of it on multiple occasions purposely pulled off by his older brother, orchestrating the perfect response each time the blue moon came around and he got the call from the owner that he didn't want to leave. Dante spoke up after reading his thoughts, even if speaking up would make things trickier to worm through. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Oh. Love Planet, is it?" He tried to hide his glum with indifference. "Are they open so early?"

"We're going to see the owner." The twins nervously scratched at their forearms. "Not because we want to, I assure you."

"We." He liked that they felt guilty – they are big boys and could handle themselves in any situation, but he still needed something to bring them home in one piece. Phase one: breaking the shell. "You're going." He directed his enquiry to the older who was supposed to talk his brother out of it; the place was second on his despise list – the sole place to beat it being the fiery pits of Hell where he got a year supply of Vitamin D in ten minutes – mainly for what Dante turned into between its five walls.

Vergil forced his gaze to the boy with a small smile, using the guise to his advantage. "Not because I want to, I assure you. You'll have my perfect round ass if we don't make the appointment."

"I'll have your ass even if you do."

He thought he misheard. "What?"

So did Dante. "What?"

That was the second time; one more and he'd have to saran wrap his face. "What?"

"We got a disturbance call. We told him we'd check it in an hour."

Now he really couldn't stop them; it was a job, and his so-called quivering bottom lip won't stand a chance. "When was that?"

How long were they awake? "Two hours ago," said Dante, swatting the air between them. "He said we could take our time."

Phase two: sympathy for the wretched. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"I don't think it is; he was calm over the phone."

"Is he ever stressed?"

Dante scratched the back of his head and skewed his mouth. "That's also very true."

He was trying to distract him; he was six years over the legal age, why the hell not? "Just be safe. You don't need it, but I'll feel terrible if something happened and I didn't do anything about it."

Vergil gave a slight chuckle, pulling the boy's attention to his neck and jaw as he stared at the air-conditioner above them. "Saying 'be safe' isn't doing anything."

"Still a contribution." Nero held his coffee between his hands, warming him from his fingertips to his face where his two guardians watched him suspiciously, burning each cheek with their icy stares; he drank the dregs in two shots, setting the warm cup in front of him and playing with the ear to not satisfy their inaudible request for eye contact. "And when I say it, I know that both of you will take it to heart. Because you love me to bits and I'm adorable."

A few seconds of silence; a synchronised snigger; delightful to the finest degree. "Are you getting sentimental on us?"

Nero regained his silly character, scrunching every feature into a deep-fried ball of fluffy disapproval with are-you-out-of-your-mind dipping sauce on the side, extra spicy. "The angsty teen getting sentimental? I'm too young for menopause or a mid-life crisis – you've had plenty, right?"

"Just one I can remember," replied Dante, pausing for dramatic effect for the sweet serving that would make his brother proud, "and now three people live in this house."

Who knew he had it in him? He was almost as sharp as his younger counterpart, leaving the aspect of his inhibitions and filter in the back of his brain and saying whatever popped into his head first, adding to that the conceit of his aura and a mockingly bland and humble face with a trace of a smirk edging forward, he was truly the only one who could pull the remark off; Vergil took a deep breath and slowly lowered his hand between their chairs, palm up, for the sweetest low five within the boundaries of his body's jurisdiction. Nero's tongue had a sour tinge to it, sticking it inside his cheek to ward off the poison in the extraordinary, impulsive sting. With the formalities out of the way, Vergil mistakably extinguished the fire in their eyes, bringing them down to a neutral playing ground. "Nero, we will be careful, everything will be fine, and we won't miss our appointment that you have set up for us. We're grateful, thank you." Their faces didn't change. "But being adorable and loving you to bits-"

"I can deal with that; doesn't take much effort."

He was on a roll; the gentle pop to his weasel felt all the more satisfactory across the board, taking a good look at the extreme ends of the stick on the contrasting faces that gaped at him. "Oh. That hurt," holding a hand to his chest and falling back into his chair, balling his hand into a fist and causing feint red scratch marks on his left peck. To show… how much pain he was in… metaphorically speaking. "Well, you better get going. The quicker you finish up the quicker we can continue with my training."

Training. Great. "Whose turn is it?"

Nero leaned forward and put his chest against the edge of the table. "Both; you said that if I could disarm Vergil, you'd take part next time."

The mentioned twin remembered the agreement; he couldn't recall its success. "You didn't."

"But I got close. He offered you up anyway." It would have been a freebie had Dante not eaten all the leftover lasagne that he had shotgunned that very morning. "Only if you want to. I don't want to force-"

"I'll be there. Maybe you'll see me whip him into shape." Dante gestured to his left as Vergil took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, watching the slow generation of the crystallised egg forming between his ears and directing a sculpted frown to the plan he didn't want to be a part of, especially if it required him to portray his twin for an extended period of time, increasing the likely chance for indecent exposure. He wasn't paying attention to their conversation until the pads of his fingers touched his chest followed by a lewd face and an accusing finger his way from the boy, snapping him from his daze and into their messed-up exchange.

"That-" the digit was sharper, not that there was much to point at in the empty room "-can get more into shape?"

Dante nodded. "This-" the light graze on his torso went noticed by a ghosting of gooseflesh "-is nothing compared to his true form." He was playing Dante exceptionally well, jokingly cocky self-compliments ticked off the long list. "Now, if you're done drooling, we have to get ready."

He wasn't. He never would be. Vergil was the first to move, craving movement for his blood to circulate to his left foot that he had crossed underneath him, cutting his blood path for a good hour or so, and as such he collected their mugs and limped to the kitchen, giving them a quick rinse and turning them upside down to drain for their next cuppa; his body moved on autopilot, not recalling having ever been this active from breakfast until now, becoming used to the view of his brother up and down from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, cleaning the table of the articles in use the second they were done with – his patience and twitching eye had gotten better over the years as it slowly faded away, with the other two doing so before he managed to snag the job from under their feet in his measured learning to share the chore; and now it went to him, propelled by will and powered by sense, to do so without batting an eye as his brother's impulses directed him blindly through the motions. He took no notice as he passed them, shaking some life into his foot as he reached the foot of the stairs, stepping on the first and clenching his teeth at the weird sensation. "Vergil?"

He stopped dead; what did he do now? "Yeah."

Dante looked like he clicked his neck in the opposite direction. "That way."

Shit. He knew something felt right. Think… Think think think think think think. "I know that. I thought I may have left something in you room from last night." He was beginning to enjoy the fast pace of Vergil's brain.

His back was to them as he made the remark, feeling too cold a shiver run the length of his spine as something definitely transpired between the two at the table; he was afraid to turn and see what his innocent reply had done, mostly for the unintentional backlash it would cause. "Last night?" asked Nero, swivelling his head at each twin, putting two and two together and coming up with eleven; their faces calmed to a bone-chilling degree, confirming his conclusion. "Did you two-"

"Dante fell asleep." Vergil stepped down, needing level ground for the discussion.

Dante took the time for his defending two cents. "You took too long."

"Sorry that I'm the romantic type."

"You're not the romantic type."

Had all of their sexual encounters been a lie? "I'm not?"

The older twin shook his head. "You're the organised chaos type," he said, finding a better way to explain it in a way for both of them to comprehend. "You have a set path that you need to reach and you will do whatever is needed of you to achieve that goal whilst still venturing out and completing side quests for your own benefit." Only one person in the room knew what those side quests entailed, and that was why he chose romantic in the first place.

It made no sense to Nero, and when in doubt, ask more questions until one of them cracked. "And you know this how?"

"I don't, but I'm really good at taking guesses." The boy watched the same half smile form on both their faces, half a room's width between them, with their focus solely on him. The twin thing always freaked him out, but this was on another level.

Nevertheless, he chose not to listen to the incomprehensible ramble. "So, basically…" and he kicked it up a notch, watching them closely before adding the uncensored pieces of their libidos to the puzzle. "The two of you slept in without any action?"

Dante wouldn't go as far as to say that, evoking the fifty or so thrusts he had contributed to his twin's lacklustre efforts at staying awake. "Fatigue doesn't rule out the chance that nothing happened, Nero." Cue Vergil with a hint of smugness in his gaze, scratching an itch inside his mouth with his teeth.

"It doesn't, but you just confirmed that neither of you properly exhausted your resources." Nero was taking a chance with the subject matter, standing from his seat ready to skedaddle to his room as his swaggering metre neared zero. "You poor things-"

He hadn't accurately thought it through; he dropped his face to leave the area and saw a pair of bare feet inches from his own and a commanding hand raise for his jaw, forcing his gaze to meet the fierce blue pair that was dangerously close. Blue flecks of shadow outlined his frame as he jumped through the dimension of time and space to land right in front of his target who he swore he had seen cuss under his breath. Nero didn't anticipate Vergil to teleport into his escape route, bringing their faces ever so close that their noses touched, pausing for terror to seep into his soul. It didn't. "Is that an offer I hear, Dante?"

The sibling joined his side, the pads of his feet rife with karma as he took his time getting to them, fixating the most icily delicious stare he could muster. "I think it is," he said, clicking his tongue as he grabbed the soft mound of flesh in front of him and squeezed daintily, mismatching his assumed persona as a warning: something was happening that wasn't meant to and Vergil needed to end the party. Fast.

 _I'll distract him. You go on ahead. And get enough out of your system to last a few hours._

 _I thought I did. I was in the bathroom for a really long time._

 _Then you're not doing it right._

 _I think I know how to give you a handjob, Dante._

Vergil smirked at Nero. _How flexible are you?_

And a single spank later, Dante moved quickly up the stairs and the safety of his brother's room. _Go fuck yourself._

The younger twin dropped into the boy's shoulder hiding a chuckle, stepping nearer and whispering into his ear. "Sorry to disappoint, but we have a tight schedule today. Tonight perhaps, after dinner; I'm sure we can squeeze you in."

Vergil teleported halfway up the other staircase, one foot below the other and holding tightly onto the banister; the angle where he stood did wonders for his good side, maintaining the boy's glower after he was out of sight, opening his door and twisting to see Nero at his own looking up at him; before he closed it, he made a note to start undressing as the door swung, the pair of boxers dropping to the floor a moment before it banged shut. "NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING MEAN!"

* * *

Vergil gave a once over in the huge mirror in the room, recalling all the crap he was used to giving his brother about the inefficiency of his combat gear as he consciously admitted it to being somewhat better than his own; the boots were soft and comfy, his trousers had the right amount of tightness to not hinder him in battle but loose enough for parts of him to breathe, the sleeveless shirt had a hidden nifty zip in the front much like his own, and his blue coat sat snuggly on his broad shoulders, flowing with the contours of his back and waist elegantly as the rest of it flared like a normal coat to one inch above the floor. He traced along the snow-white pattern from the collar, the power and energy burning his unworthy fingertips with a mere simple touch as he tugged at the fibres, ready to serve as a boost should he so need it. He ran his fingers through his hair and let the silver strands fall where they may, two tufts negating the motion and springing forward to finish his iconic look of sophisticated badassery; he checked the inside pocket, finding the golden half of his brother's amulet and put it around his neck instead of the thick cravat he always wore – it was too warm a day and he liked showing off his twin's sinewy neck.

Three knocks to his bedroom door were followed by a meek voice. "Want me to do your buttons for you?"

Buttons? Of course, Vergil wouldn't wear something simple. Its ease was all a ruse. "What buttons?"

"The ones on the back of your coat and outer sleeves? The ones you either forget to or can't do by yourself?" He checked the mentioned areas, and sure enough sat two of the five round buttons undone on either sleeve, the one at the back needing some adjustment before it could be set into place. "I have a peace offering."

The hybrid went on his tiptoes to the door, looking through the keyhole and seeing nothing; he went back to his spot in front of the mirror to not cause suspicion. "What is it?"

A heavy sigh met his appeal. "Can't you just open the door? I didn't have this much trouble with Dante."

"Oh, so you went to him first?"

"You ask me to go to him first."

Damn, Vergil was finicky. "Fair enough."

He opened the door to a fresh godsend straight from rapture, head to toe in black and carrying one half and one full tumbler of scotch, handing the bigger one over as the twin stepped out of the threshold to let him in and solve the wardrobe malfunction; Nero shut the door behind him and set his glass at the bedside cabinet and worked swiftly, locating the four on his wrists and pushing the lone one in the back through its hole. "Because nothing says 'strong independent bulletproof invincible demon hybrid immortals ready to slaughter demon kind twenty four seven' like outfits you can't put on without help." He tugged and dusted the shoulders, smoothing out each arm over the gold fingerless gloves and straightening his shirt, falling to his knees to secure the four buckles on his leather boots, and overall, making everything more comfortable. The youngster checked every nook and cranny again, making sure not a stray piece of material would deter his abilities; he hated the cravat, so he was pleased at seeing his beloved necklace swaying on his chest.

"We're not immortal. The risk of us dying is next to none, but there's a chance." Vergil took a big swig at the offering with a sigh of contentment at the scorch in his throat. "The processes are tedious, but piss off the right person at the right moment and that hash brown could be your last." He took another, watching the teen sip at his own. "If I'm going to die, may it be by the hand of a nice person willing to let me eat breakfast first; may it be some lazy bugger not wanting to get out of bed in the middle of the night; and may he at least clean up after his mess." He spoke as he walked to his chest of drawers setting down his half-finished glass. "On second thought, if I am killed by any one of those characteristics, I don't deserve breakfast."

He faced Nero with open arms, giving him a spin to see if the outfit met his criteria. "Ah: live a life of strict method demolished by starch, flour and eggs." He copied the motion, placing his glass next to the other for both hands to put the final touches on his bending collar, flicking it upward and tidying the unyielding lines as a whole. But his touch became softer, no purpose in his twists and turns of the cloth other than finding what he was looking for, which he himself didn't have a clue to. All he knew was that he was going to leave with answers, damned with whatever he needed to do; Vergil beat him to it, noting the fourth time he'd fluffed the threads on his chest and sluggishly pulled his hands away, set them at his sides and gave him a look that said 'spill'. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on?"

Why did he have to be so perceptive? "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, Vergil." Nero's gaze fell to the dark auburn wood. "Dante seems somewhat normal, but you're on another level."

The twin's hands fell to his shoulders, squeezing to relax the tension in his muscles. "Another level of what?" He flicked him hard on the forehead. "And you will look at me when you're talking to me."

He mentally pated himself on the back; that was so Vergil-y it was almost shocking he came up with it him all by himself but felt horrible at the force, blaming the quick and not-so-innocent strike to his head on the coat as Nero rubbed the pain away, looking like he deserved it. It made him feel so much worse until the boy laughed and looked up, happy to see a glimpse of the twin he knew, doubting his argument more and more as he dropped his shoulders and softly placed his hands on top of Vergil's. "You're bouncy and fluffy and soft and…" The longer he focused, the more he lost his train of thought as he was sucked him into the big deep cerulean oceans of curiosity wedged into his face, doused in quasi-purity as his mouth went dry. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I'm not used to you being…" He swallowed, "…this attentive…" He was losing fast. "Please just tell me-"

"There's nothing going on." The smooth, melted dark chocolate dripped at the corners of his mouth as he spoke just loud enough for him to hear. "If there was something to tell, you would have known already."

The simplicity of his approach rendered Nero speechless; either that or the little alcohol he'd consumed already went to his brain, nullifying its usual process of investigation and opting for the safest route out, tilting his head as Vergil persisted the torture longer than necessary. "Okay, I'll believe you. For now," he said, drawing deep breath at the full-fledged smile. "I swear, if you smile at me one more time-"

"You'll… do… what…?" His hands moved on their own, gently moving upward and cupping his face, comfort etched in every feature of his unblemished phiz; the hybrid licked his lips falling victim to the dry plague that hit the teen seconds earlier, selfish in not wanting to override the outcome Vergil's body and mind was hoping for-

-but he didn't have to. Nero flew to the other side of the room as a knock graced the other side of the door, leaving his fingertips tingling at the loss of contact. Did he miss something? Was he meant to decode this by himself? There wasn't time; Dante had let himself in, coming into the room the same way the boy did previously, wearing his military boots and black jeans while carrying his black vest and jacket in his hands. Vergil took insult at the mismatched uniform he'd salvaged, but knowing his brother he might actually pull it off. "Am I interrupting? I need help."

He knew the boy would be there. He needed to stop anything that would materialise without Dante knowing what to do. The younger twin stepped forward and claimed the effects, sorting them on the huge navy blue bed ready to lay down the law of his choice of attire; as he'd said before, there was a reputation at stake, and he was sure the giggle on the other side of the room was owing to his choices too. "I'll take this one; these things are complicated." He waved his hand in one general direction, meaning either the steadfast buckles or Dante.

It was Nero's cue to leave them to their kerfuffle, excusing his presence with a tender hand at the shirtless waist, sneaking through the small space behind him to the exit. "I'm gonna be in my room. Let me know when you leave."

"Sure thing," said Dante, three deliriously hot streaks spanning across the small of his back; the air seemed lighter as he took his leave, hearing slow footsteps and the soft opening and closing of his bedroom door, two beeps and a massive slump on his bed – he played video games to keep his mind off oncoming stress and anxiety, but he'd be patient in finding out the truth of the moments he'd missed in their encounter. "Great work on the evasion."

Vergil didn't click that that meant he'd heard everything. "I never realised how difficult it is to lie to him."

What they were doing wasn't lying per say; lying by omission was just as bad, but they themselves were searching for solutions, and what they had to say needed more than the usual explanation; 'too drunk to remember' was a lie, because the only thing they were unclear of was how and when it happened, and even if they could recall every single detail of their liquor-infused charade Dante would still need to sieve through everything to wring the correct person's neck. "It's just one thing, Dante; if anything it's him asking all the questions."

The younger shifted the complex thoughts to the back of his brain, trying to make sense at combining the best part of two outfits and coming out with nothing. "He and his cute face need to stop; I have no answers."

Vergil discarded the vest entirely, holding his second-gen red coat against his pale skin and it kinda worked for the task at hand; little exposure and cool to rival their demonic bodily temperature mixed with the hot day they were having. It was enough that it had to be leather and on their off day. "He's worried. That's all it is."

He looked down; darn idiot tied his shoes wrong. The younger twin went onto his knees and undid the entire thing, tapping his calf to pay attention as he began from scratch, AKA his socks – which were the right ones, thankfully – putting his foot on his knee as he loosened the laces and Velcro straps on his boots; he was just as much of a perfectionist as Vergil, moving the socks for the least amount of irritant to uncomfortably scrape his skin, lining up the dark patch to his heel and folding the pipes of his jeans firmly against his leg for a snug fit at the ankles; he slipped it on, tucking the jeans some more to smooth as much of the leg that he could, tying the shoe afterward for a secure and cosy fit. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to get serious for a second?"

He began doing the same with the other. "I know you've been avoiding it for good reason, but what are your plans when the papers void at the end of the year?"

Vergil stopped, worked slower, his full focus to the shoes falling third to the list. "The decision is up to him. If he wants to stay he can stay; if he wants to go, he can go. The latter would be harder on the side of convincing him we're still here if he needs us."

He finished up on the last strap, tying the laces into a neat bow and tucking it in the front. "He knows that, Dante."

The younger picked himself off the floor, immediately turning to the coat. "I'm just saying-"

"Nero is smarter for the thought of abandonment to ever cross his mind." Vergil was right: in any circumstance, he was an emotionally logical thinker who was selfish when it came to the twins in every facet of his life. He played by the book, putting them above all else at saving him from a life of unlimited delinquency that, when he looked back, didn't suit him at all; any and all memories he had before the twins were forcibly removed by the elder brother by his request, wanting them to be all he knew if he were ever to change for the better – such an impact at the six month mark was admirable, considering his terrifying past, living day to day behind the veil of the unknown and fighting for survival every minute of every day. The twins knew no such struggle with their heritage and endless supply of influence, and that level of powerlessness was beyond their comprehension. It drove them more with every breath to give him what they could within his limitations, only venturing into their world until he was strong and healthy enough to do so and never going back since that one eventful day, exposing him to the capabilities of a good albeit wild future and giving him a slice of life to look forward to. Now declared an adult in the eyes of the state, Dante and Nero were no longer legally bound to one another on paper, and the conversation needed to happen soon. They were both dreading it.

Vergil held the coat open, fixing the protective material on his bare shoulders and ensuring it sat comfortably on his slightly smaller frame; he spun, tugging at the sleeves before he tackled the three buckles that would cause Dante to scream come the end of the day, clicking both ends until they met at the centre and twisting the small mechanism, hearing it snap into place. The other two followed with a hard pull at the clips and setting them gently on his chiselled torso. "Let's get to the bottom of this and fix it. I can't handle your metabolism."

"I can't handle all your layers."

"There are none."

"My point," he said, budging his body in different directions for pliability. "Everything you're wearing is soft."

"Everything you're wearing is manly!" Vergil added a growl to his voice, hiding the truth of why his brother couldn't freely move; his combat gear toughened as the battles and the wearer's unease progressed. In a relaxed state, the fibres soften, which meant something was weighing heavy on him. Asking him about them would be counterintuitive for the mindset he had embraced for the afternoon, and they needed to feed off one another for their plan to work.

Dante was too engulfed in the shape of his chest to notice anything else. "Are the belts a fetish or did you not buy the right size?"

A weighted groan. "Oh, come off it. These weren't bought."

"Then you lost muscle mass?"

"You're used to a broader chest and shoulders, that's why you're uncomfortable. Not boosting your ego, I tested my theory." Vergil grabbed either side of the coat and opened it, swaying his body from side to side like a dancing penguin on ice ready to fall flat on his face. "But I do get the long badass coat."

He wasn't going to ask about the necklace; Dante's was safe in the outer left pocket. "You do. It suits you."

"Of course it fucking does," said Vergil, knowing the reflected stance and corresponding expression too well after over a thousand years of enduring his sourpuss exterior and learning to crack him step by step. "And I know what that face means so spill it."

He didn't try to defend it. "I'm not looking forward to the training."

Oh. That was easy. "You trained me; I'm sure my fighting style is still up there somewhere-"

"That's not what I'm worried about." He'd replicate him perfectly, and that was the good fifty percent of their condition. "What do you think is going to happen when we call our weapons? I stand there with Yamato in my hands while you stand with Rebellion…"

Nero was clever, but he was realistically clever. Their situation went through the realms of the surreal. "He isn't going to consider the complication of a body swap simply by that instance."

"And when my Summon Swords suddenly conjure? They react to my vitals and stress level – what then?"

"I won't stress you out; I'll dial it down and fight at half my strength." There was literally no worse a proposition than that; he hated whenever an opponent used less than one hundred percent of their power, made even worse at him knowing the fact. The face said it all, blazing at the likelihood of such an atrocity happening in front of a one-man audience. Vergil raised his palms with no ill intention, holding the smirk since the comment left his mouth. "I'll cook up something. In the meanwhile get your incubus senses tingling; you're doing all the talking. You're better at being angry." No clarification required.

Dante raked his fingers through his gravity defying hair, fluffing it to the side but being just as stubborn as its rightful owner, went back to its original position flopping above his line of vision. "We're not going in there angry. We don't know if this is his doing-"

Vergil finally pinned down what was wrong – he was wearing a belt. How and why… He invaded Dante's non-existent personal space, pulling it out of the sole device keeping it on his body and dropping the leather and silver to the floor, wrapping his arms around his waist yanking at certain spots for the proper way it was meant to fit his hips. He undid the button and fly, redressing himself suitably, inadvertent friction included. "If it is?"

The younger's hands compulsorily left the tensing denim and stalked to the door, holding it open for Dante to lead the way. "Then I'm filling his bathtub with water and taking a quick soak." He had no clue what it meant, but it sounded fun. He was on the first step down, extending his hand as the door closed. "We can get specifics faster if you join me."

On impulse he laced their fingers with an immoral smirk, treading carefully on the disjointed slats leading to the front door. "Now you're starting to think like me."

Nothing could have prepared them for the reply. "Blame your dick; I can't take the credit."

The twins stood at the steps that lead to the threshold of their home with Dante fired up from the depths of hell ready to wreak as much havoc as his body would allow; by no means necessary was he a violent person, but this inexplicable obstacle was in the auburn zone, beyond the deepest shade of crimson, hitting him square in his mind at three hundred and fifty seven thousand scoville; coming in unknown with no initial category, this had raised the bar against the worst thing he had believed happen to him, needing a whole new colour to represent his utter dislike of his consequence. He worried more of his brother, more than capable at taking the task under his belt, but it was the nuisance of it all – forcing him to come out with him and steamrolling the incident in the first place – is what made him feel a little guilty, and the sooner he played his part the sooner things would go back the norm, the twins happy and brooding in their appropriate corners of life whilst cooking four-star stir fry ramen.

Dante was watching Nero from a distance, quickly grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge before seeing them off. He made a big deal about it each time, hearing the horror stories of improper goodbyes and incomplete thoughts left to scatter like a gentle touch to a dandelion field, weaving through space to disappear like a menial fleck of dust under microscopic regret of the one who remained drawing breath to sort through the miles of mayhem engulfing their tender, aching hearts. Given their line of work, he was undoubtedly serious in seeing them again, in one piece, promising to rain wrath on them should they allow anything to happen to them. The elder took it in his stride to look out for both, even if Dante needed no worrying over. Contrary to popular belief and Nero's denial, he was his world, quirks and all; they shared a connection Vergil wish they did, but he assumed that came with something as inconsequential yet influential as a signature in black ink at the bottom right of a sheet of paper. To this day, he still remembered the way Dante begged and pleaded with him to fight for his right at a choice; he didn't need much of either, using his outrageous charm and law degree to win over a jury in favour of the boy staying with them until his coming of age. The state wanted him behind bars, and neither could allow the potential to go to waste.

He sat alone in his room, pressing the four colours on his console controller when they came home from court, his transcripted testimony read over five times in the car on the way; Nero tried not to be too excited as the front door made its trademark creaking, listening through the keyhole to gage a general atmosphere to the dining room. He calmly opened his door to see them both hunched over three pieces of paper, slowly looking up to him with subdued expressions. "I made hot cocoa," he said, wanting a reply to fish for absolutely any sign of what went down. It was the first thing Vergil had bestowed to him, showing him the hidden secret to the best cup of hot chocolate imaginable; a stove, pot, five scoops, lots of milk and marshmallows. He'd done it in bulk on purpose with the boy unable to figuring out the measurements for a single serving, forcing him to make for all three of them each time and so he did, as a celebratory contribution for the good news that was supposedly meant to fly through the door.

Nero trod back into his room and resumed his game for a short while, pausing as the handle to his room turned and Dante stepped in, joining him on the bed as a pair of young and naïve eyes watched him closely. He pulled the thin brown envelope from under his arm and handed it to the boy. "Dinner will be ready in ten," he said and left, closing the door softly. He gave no fucks to the state of the torn envelope, already on edge that all of his happiness would be determined by a stack of processed oak. And then he saw it all: the signatures, dates, and the huge red stamp that almost made him lose his breath.

The boy moved with the smells and heat from the kitchen ten minutes later, seeing two steaming bowls of his favourite pasta dish – Vergil's fettuccini – in the centre of the table along with three bottles of Mountain Dew – his favourite drink – one fizzing away as the elder poured them all full glasses of the heavenly bubbling nectar. The room was too quiet for him, sliding his chair opposite to the twins as much as he could to make uncomfortable noises to jar the endless silence. It was only after having dished their portions that Dante spoke, feeding a nest-like forkful into his mouth. "So how was school?"

A small sniff made them look up, seeing Nero's gaze in his lap while he wiped his eyes and swung his legs wildly in his seat, satisfying the itch to leap off his chair and join the twins at the other side, stretching his wingspan and grappling the brothers taken entirely by surprise at the display of emotion from him. They smiled to one another, leaving their food for a minute to embrace the bawling fluffball that was officially part of their tiny makeshift family. "Hug me properly, dammit!" he said, wanting more than a limp pat on the back they had offered in pure shock.

That same bawling fluffball had grown into a brilliant young man and stunned every person involved in his story, even the twins. Their pride in raising him didn't have a number, and their words could only harbour so much potency in four short years. Looking at him now was miles away from the day he was dumped on their doorstep with a tiny squared red and black checker suitcase, overly-worn sneakers and damp socks, one-size-too-big t-shirt and black hoodie, drenched by the short walk from the cab to their doorstep and soaked in irrepressible wrongdoing, unaware of the immense misfortune waiting on the other side of the concrete wall. He fit right in before they met.

All of the fond memories flooded Dante's train of thought as he trekked toward them; Vergil was one step from the road, abusing his straight back and taking a deep breath of fresh air and letting his shoulders drop at the beautiful day, looking to his favourite spot and seeing it overrun with a cluster of fluttery colour. "Can I have a moment with him? Just for a bit."

"Sure." What he'd give to run through the open field like an idiot and disrupt the calm of the vibrant winged creatures. "Then what should I do?"

He saw his younger kin's eyes twinkle at the field across the road. "Go chase the butterflies."

YES! He wished he cared for whatever answer Dante would give him. "Would you do that?"

He nodded with half a smile. "You being me would do that."

"That sounds like a go ahead to me." Vergil didn't need to be told twice, teasing Dante as he teleported to the open area waving snidely, getting a single finger as a response and mouthful of words where he could shove it. "A pity it's been there already."

He turned and walked briskly into the epicentre of their party, plonking himself restfully on the ground to make the visitors welcome, plucking a blade of grass and trying to find the appeal as he attempted to blend in. On the other side of the road, Nero had caught up with the red-clad demon sitting on the steps, undoing the secured plastic to depressurise the bottle as he handed it over. "We'll make a pit stop at the store; is there anything you need?"

Dante took a healthy sip, capping the container and handing it back. "Chocolate. Lots of it. Vergil knows which one is my favourite." He did the same, setting it between them. "Will you be doing dinner?"

If it were really Dante he was speaking to, he'd be dreading the acquisition. "Yes, I'll be venturing into the creamy depths of one of Vergil's infamous recipes."

He hoped it was the fettuccini. "Alright. I have faith in you." Please let it be the fettuccini. "You need me to get anything started?"

"Not allowed." Rule number three: you are not allowed to cook more than one meal a day. Breakfast declared him out of the running for dinner. "You'll be tired after this afternoon."

"You think I can't take the two of you at once?"

"I know you can't, but hey, theory testing is my favourite subject." He was indifferent to the result of today as it perched at the bottom of his priority list. "There weren't many options when I was younger."

Nero bowed his head deeply, making as if he knew what he was talking about. "Easy to believe the little opportunities presented in the Stone Age."

Dante inhaled with his hand on his heart, wounded but proud as hell. "I'm honoured you didn't say Mesolithic," said the hybrid, reaching for the fizzy water as it was snatched from under his fingers and held at arm's length the other way, pulled further as he lunged for it. "And stubborn as always."

"You're learning. It's taken you four years, but I'll take it-" Nero's eyes finally caught the whiff of crazed blue between the other bountiful shades, staring at a butterfly that had perched on his finger; he twisted it to varying angles and marvelled each new facet with a new face, coming ever so close the smile the boy threatened him with previously. Vergil looked like a kid in a candy store, tens of tiny pairs of wings fluttering on his silver mane, wrinkling his face the way he would imagine becoming an attractive perch for the female part of the species. "Has he been doing that this entire time?"

The camera on his cell phone wouldn't be able to zoom in at the adorable picture. "Uh huh."

He was staring intently. "One of the strongest, most feared and powerful living beings in this Solar System," he took a sip, "and he's chasing butterflies." He wouldn't lie; he could watch it all day if he could. "They have to be some of the most beautiful butterflies he's ever seen. It's no easy task to grab his attention to make him chase something so trivial." Nero pointed to him, eliminating the space between them ensuring Dante saw what he was seeing. "From here, you can see how his eyes sparkle as he follows them; he may not show everything he's feeling, but you can feel it. Something so simple is making him so undeniably happy, I'm almost envious. I haven't seen that shade of content for a long time."

The miniscule shuffle to Dante's side brought their faces close, feeling the boy's entranced breath at his ear and shoulder, too scared that the faintest of moves to his neck will make him do something he couldn't dare to. "Butterflies are really rare in these parts."

"Doesn't matter; I have no doubt they're blushing as they flutter just out of his reach," said Nero, placing his hand on his shoulder and his chin on his hand to prevent the sharp point of his jaw to hurt him; he did it knowingly, steering the elder's view forward disabling the chance to steal glances to his right. "You're the caterpillar chasing type."

Ah, so he was in a joking mood. Dante had almost forgotten the comment wasn't meant for him. "Not much of a chase."

"But you'd turn it into one. With commentary. And as per your norm, the crowd would be in stitches because that's the only thing that worries you."

That was quite sweet. "Making people laugh?"

"Pleasing others." Nero thankfully moved and felt the twin relax, tensing once more as he snaked his hand under and around his arm, leaning into the bizarre flux of muscle in the small space. "That is all you do, day in and day out."

Dante wasn't ready for this, and the only way to fight fire was with fire, his cheeks scorching as it hit the cool strands of Nero's hair; his hand wrapped lightly around the boy's wrist and traced soothing shapes, unable to resist the giggle that came when his skin tingled. "It's not a bad thing."

"It isn't, but you neglect yourself too often." Nero's colourful gaze changed to one of deep crimson, dizzying his eyes by watching the pattern his guardian was drawing with invisible, warm ink. "When you go out solo, the first thing you do when you come back is turn on the coffee machine and check where we are; if you can't find us, you call; if we don't answer you run back out and look for us; if we're in trouble, you're there with a blanket and hot cocoa; we have nightmares, you're there in an instant." Nero held on tighter, elongating the stretch of skin Dante was playing on. "I don't know if Vergil has nightmares."

Who doesn't? "And he's exempt because…"

"There's little to stress about when mortality isn't an issue. Either that or he has an incredibly flawless stress face."

It was the latter, with utmost certainty. "He does. More than you'd expect."

"And how do you know that?" He made a point to jab his finger into his arm, digging the fact home. "You're there."

Okay, this was taking it a bit too far, but that's just how they were. "I guess I am."

"You bet your perfect everything you are." He took a deep breath as he looked at the content beyond black yonder. "One day, I'll thank you properly."

"Not necessary."

"Yes necessary." When Nero made up his mind, there was little way to change it; your side of the bargain should be negotiated by dessert as a solid foundation. "You and Vergil fought for me; I know it was him who stood up but you signed the papers. You could have legally dropped me on the street but you didn't, because that's the person you are. I can't comprehend you as a whole, but I'll find a way to show you true appreciation, Dante."

"Again," he said; clearing his throat didn't sound convincing either, "not necessary."

Nero's koala cling loosened to claim the bottle on his side. "You're starting to sound like Vergil."

That one would never get old. He left a smidgen over for its rightful owner who downed it and sat it behind the door frame as he stood, impressively heaving the demon's full body weight until he was on his feet. This was another degree of manhandling. "What can I say, he's a great guy."

"He's amazing." He realised too late he was staring at the standing brother at a distance as he said goodbye to one of the many 'friends' he'd made, watching it fly away as he moved to the sidewalk. "Anyway, you tell Vergil anything I said I will personally chop your scrotum and add it to your chicken soup that I love so much."

Dante twisted the key at the corner of his mouth, swallowing it after. "My lips are sealed."

He knew there was no way he would, but it was the thought that counted. "Good. Now get going – I'm too excited to kick your ass."

* * *

They walked side by side down the long stretch of road from their place, opting for the longer route to Love Planet to collect all of their emotion and thoughts for their unprepared onslaught that Hanson saw coming a mile away. If it was his fault, there was no need in pretending to be the other twin; that being said, it would probably be worse in having to maintain their levels of rage to a civilised minimum, where both had no experience in. Vergil walked assertively with his hands in his pockets, adding that Dante flare as each foot ventured in front of the other; Dante had his hands at his sides, fidgeting with the numerous straps inside and outside his coat until it was comfortable – a ten minute brisk walk got them halfway to the dodgy establishment, the three-story building towering in plain view and growing with every step. When he was certain they were beyond the seeing and hearing radius, Vergil turned to his brother with a glimmer in his eye. "Dante?" He looked up, encompassing the cool demeanour. "Hold my hand would you?"

He did as he was told, seeing the blinding glow of information slowly moving across planes. "Just a hand?"

Dante looked around and turned a sharp corner into a side street; Vergil assumed his position against the grimy wall while the other tapped their foreheads together in an even brighter light, transferring the conversation at the speed of sound. The more points of contact the faster it moved, both in intense concentration until the elder broke the connection at the end of the memory before other pieces of his psyche flew into his twin's brain matter.

"Nero said that?"

He dipped his head. "I'm too cold to make that up. Third-person perspective was a given, don't you think?"

His hands remained at his brother's jaw, preserving the soft cocoon of his fragile mentality as Vergil cupped his elbows, the butterflies returning and flicking their wings in his stomach acid. "I love that kid."

"Me too." The twins moved back into the main street walking a tad faster than originally, wanting to get this over and done with to get back and beat the crap out of the emotional rollercoaster waiting for them at home; they had hoped the tailors wouldn't take too long either, but one way or another they will show Nero who's boss, not giving away how much of an impact fighting him would weigh on their subconscious and still smugly throw his consecutive beatings in his face.

"I have a question."

Dante's head brushed up; this couldn't be good. "Shoot."

Vergil crumpled his face trying to conceal the awaited expression of complete confusion mingled with a touch of what-the-fuck. "Would you ever consider saying the word 'jammies'?"

His gaze darkened, flicking between the road ahead and the abysmal query. "Over my rotting corpse."

That's what he thought. Darn.


	3. Keeping the peace

Hanson stared at the outrage before him, his unique combination of perinaise, pickles, rocket, tomato, and Prego steak on a Portuguese roll begging to be demolished, sitting comfortably with a fresh Sex on the Beach blinking in the artificial light shining from his ceiling. He waited patiently for the five or so seconds for two pairs of footsteps to mission up the steel staircase around the back of the building that lead straight to his front door; the frazzled shadows appeared underneath and he couldn't tell from their scents whether to be scared or indifferent, no available aroma of rage or burnt marshmallow to develop an appropriate reaction. All he could tell was that Dante, or rather Vergil, stood at the forefront with the younger behind him; not the strategy to use in favour of shaking some sense into the incubus.

They didn't bother knocking, smelling the look of coy satisfaction from his soft, double couch. "You know we're here. Just open the door."

"I'm enjoying the view." Hanson instinctively fluffed his pillows and took a sip of his cocktail, moving to quietly peek through the keyhole expecting an onslaught of black material and gold buckles; what hit him instead was a glimpse of red and blue, out of place yet comfortable on the wrong minds: he most certainly did not remember Dante being that muscular, the dense definition hidden under two biased layers of fibre seemed monotonous and unjust, counting the protrusions two by two until it made him feel ridiculous that he needed to count that high. Behind him was that fitted bloody blue coat looking as far as the collar with its silver trimmings of soft conditioned hair and those lips that he'd tasted just a few hours prior. Of course, now, it belonged to the twin he couldn't touch, reminded that there was a bit of Dante in and on both of them – vice versa for Vergil – and that everything for the next hour was going to be agonizing in keeping his brain far from the solitary train of thought overtaking sixty five percent of his processing capacity.

Hanson didn't care. Partially. The view ready to walk through the door and incinerate his spinal column determined ultimate niceness in him giving them what they came for; the age-old question of 'whodunnit', 'whydunnit', and of course, the spanking that came with the ripostes attached to them. That was his favourite part. "Open this door or have colossal oak splinters scattered through every part of artificial comfort in that place." Dante's voice, Vergil's demeanour and aura soaked in every word dripping from his newly sharpened tongue; he made it clear that he needn't fake the attempt at intimidation, feeling the skin freeze on the other side of the door. "I'm not in favour of using my brother's power this early, but I will."

Bone-chilling purple candyfloss was the only way to describe it, cautiously stepping back to his couch and sitting down gently, recalling the uselessness at being silent to their superhuman hearing. "Door's open," he said, taking a sip from his room-temperatured drink, diluted and all; the knob turned calmly, clockwise and practiced, pushing inward and into the modern, smartly decorated three-bedroomed apartment – Vergil took a quick look around as he stepped through the threshold, automatically right to left to scope the new environment and pulling up a detailed blueprint of the space, looking for and locating the one specific feature that begged for is attention. He ticked it off his tiny list, watching his body strut in and close the door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest assuming his brother out of sarcastic habit; he resisted the urge to smile, directing his blue notice to the tranquil, handsome silhouette sprawled at a low-rise table with his brunch. The owner looked to Dante who leaned back at an angle, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bending at the knee, resting his foot against the wall. "Hello Vergil." He switched twins, Dante perfectly encompassing the raw masculinity that drove him senseless with need in the first place. "Hello Dante."

Vergil attempted a smile, tilting his head cutely for the sneer to appear wider than it was. "There's no reason for you to be nice, Hanson."

He shrugged with his drink in his hand, downing the entire thing before retreating slowly to his fully-equipped silver kitchen. "I'm always nice."

He gestured for the two to follow, playfully tapping the bar stools at the island after freeing his hand of the half-full glass in the sink. Dante waited for Vergil to move, the perched leg falling to the floor as he carried with the momentum of his curiosity to fit the pieces in the conundrum of their circumstance; Vergil sat but Dante remained standing, resting his forearms on the granite and lacing his long milky fingers with utmost respect in being in someone else's territory, not needing a daunting face to coerce the truth out of such a keen face. "We had one question to ask of you, but as you've already taken responsibility-"

"How do you know I'm not acting on a rumour I heard through the grapevine from the real culprit?" Hanson picked at the stray leaves of rocket from his sandwich, chewing at them like a rabbit with bits of green dangling from his mouth as he exaggerated the movements in his lips and jaw.

Vergil mirrored his twin, holding his chin in the palm of his left hand while his right toyed with the buttons on his sleeve. "You're not that nice."

"Touché." He'd be damned if his eyes would leave Dante at any point during their visit. "I'm tolerable, how about that?"

The hybrid moved and lay on his shoulder at the wall outside Lars' room. "Give us the short explanation. That's all we're coming for."

He promised himself to take his time with it. "You said so yourselves: you wouldn't last one day as the other twin, right?"

Dante nodded quietly to himself, grim that he remembered uttering those words. "I said that. This has nothing to do with him."

"Sure, but we can't have two Dante's walking around, now can we?"

"You didn't have to do this in the first place-"

"True, but the two of you needed to learn your lesson."

Dante wasn't used to being interrupted, stopped dead in his tracks by someone known of association rather than a civilised level. "With all due respect, we've been on this planet hundreds of years before you showed your pretty little face; there is nothing left to learn."

Hanson's grave expression flipped a complete switch, shiny beady eyes of wonder accompanying short spurts of breath as he fanned his face with his hands glaring at the countertop for the sake of his scorching face. "He called me pretty."

He'd get credit for being cute, but Dante would have a knack for being cuter, looking to the floor as one side of his face mutated into something adorable, biting into the tip of his finger before meeting the host's golden-flecked gaze; the Dante he knew was beginning to come out, honing no control whatsoever and not wanting to, feeling the playful fizz at the bottom of his stomach he'd immediately assume was acid reflux until it hit his torso and making him burn in red hot seduction for an all-you-can-eat one time offer experience at two consciences bursting into one rich and colourful firework straight from the purest of demonic cravings. Two can play this game, and he would not be bested in front of his younger sibling. It was the balance that was the hardest thing, showing off equilibrium of friskiness to their deed while displaying the outright sexy domination to the situation at hand and equally as enticing if the recipient was indeed a demon specialising in the sinful art of fiendish fuckery. "I wouldn't have kissed you if you weren't."

He carried the notion through with so much of their brotherly mixed flare that the true Dante got weak in the knees, staying in his indifferent position clenching the swelling pride between his legs; the elder twin moved from his perch to the seat next to Vergil, using a hand to his muscular shoulder as he slipped into the fake high-tech barstool. "You're in a different body. How am I still finding you attractive?"

"I can tell you the exact reason, but you first." The huge counter barred the inappropriacy of his sudden unwelcome onset, made all the worse by his counterparts need to rightfully grace the 'I told you so' chapter of their ten-paged novella. Dante tried to ignore the look of derisive sincerity to his left, his own fingers walking step by step on his thigh; he coughed – Vergil squeezed tighter. "What lesson?"

One at a time was manageable. It was the contrast of the same emotion conveyed through two completely different sets of eyes, through identical, that made Hanson crinkle his toes in quick succession before speaking. "You," he pointed to Vergil, "need to realise that he bickers with you and hates you coming here is because he's looking out for you, even though the chances of me allowing anything to happen to you is in the negative degree. And you," the accusing finger now in Dante's direction, "need to realise he's his own person and not your personal chew toy. He's also not your slave or your compass, and your leash needs to come off his goddamn neck."

Dante twisted his head and traced the exact line to where the collar would have been while tiny veins covered the offended twin's neck. "I don't have a leash."

The elder crumpled his lips as he shook his head. "I'll never allow it."

"Yeah, I can make my own decisions."

Hanson was doing the right thing, watching the show obediently like his brother had taught him. "You're his baby."

 _He's right._ _You are my baby._ "Baby," said Dante, grabbing Vergil's chin and shaking his head as the other sombre face broke into two puffy cheeks to properly replicate the idea across the board.

Vergil blew strawberries to the air. "Do you think that's what he's doing?"

"That's what it seems like." His tone was softer, real, almost serene and concerned for the two forms on the opposite sides of the island; they both turned his way, eyes glistening and now paying attention to the extended courtesy of their host. "You both need to give yourselves credit for what you do for each other, and there's no better way than to see it from one another's eyes. Don't you think?"

His intelligence superseded his youth and insight, pulling the rug under their feet at what they were expecting to hear. It was strange to unsee him in an age of self-centric conceit, doing something like this and not reaping any benefit from it other than a small visit from two very confused creatures as to why someone had even cared about such an inconsequential concept; true, the perspective of having an older brother may have played a role but his reasoning felt earnest enough for them to stomach it for just a bit longer. He might be missing his brother more than he'd expected. But there was just one more thing to clarify. "When does this end?"

Hanson got up and went straight to the kettle, resuming the role of the gracious host once the hard questioning was out of the way. "When either of you learn something."

That seemed too easy, but Dante detected no deceit in the short reply. "That's it?"

"That's it." He filled the appliance to the brim, replacing it in its cradle and flipping the switch. "You guys want some coffee?"

Why waste his breath asking? They always wanted coffee. "I'm quite enjoying this, if you don't mind me saying." Vergil spoke first, breaking the pattern in bodily form.

Their focus shifted to Dante who was playing with his brother's hair, tweezing the ends in different directions he'd missed when doing it initially; the silence caught him red-handed, fluffing a few tufts before their eyes charred him to an adequate degree to notice. "I won't say it's good, but this is an experience."

The young man's entire form sponged into a spongy mallow of squish, scrunching his body as he finished off their coffees with the tiny touch of creamer to dilute his own version of liquid death; he passed them over, sliding it over the surface to land directly in front of each twin to penguin-scurry to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen. "Awwwww, look at you two, giving each other compliments and shit. Oh, my heart!"

He swivelled his head just in time to see them take a sip at the same time, melting his heart some more. "Don't spoil the moment, Hanson."

Their stares caught and Dante winked, wanting to be cheesed off at first before clicking that Vergil was doing the act and not his brother's favourite, looking between the calming and the storming resting facial expressions as he collected the ingredients he had just replaced after making his sandwich. "Both of you are surprisingly okay with this."

Vergil put down his mug. "We needed answers and we got them. Not much we can do now but complain like old men, I suppose?"

Hanson bowed deeply with a sad smile concentrating on slicing and dicing the things in front of him. "You two are bound by blood, ya know – start acting like it. I'm not saying be nice all day every day, but," he stopped, putting down the knife to look at the twins who were perplexed at the adjustment to the atmosphere that didn't suit his age, "recognise what you mean to each other."

Dante felt bad for him; it was disgusting. "You just killed the moment."

Vergil agreed behind his coffee. "Whatever what was left of that moment disappeared like a lost fart in a haunted shithouse."

Authentic Dante would have spat his drink back in the cup; this Dante had to patiently swallow what was left of his sip, unable to bring himself to make a joke over making a mess in someone else's house. "Ooooh, nice one."

"Your brain is a magical thing."

Their mutual efforts finally managed a laugh on the working side of the island, commemorated by a small fist bump under the table at the sound of a heavy weight floating off Hanson's shoulders. "I'm serious. I'm not claiming to know you as well as I think I do, but I am perceptive. Don't let your pride take a knock; if anything, let it soar for the growth you churn in your hearts- WHEN ARE EITHER OF YOU GOIN TO STOP ME?"

Vergil took their empty cups to the sink, gave them a quick rinse and turned them upside down on the dry rack, reoccupying his seat and eyeing whatever Hanson was making. "We said the moment was over. We switch off after."

"We do, don't we?"

He swatted the air, dismissing their banter and setting each of the elements at their own spot. "Never mind then; are either of you hungry?"

"I could eat a horse," said Vergil, raising his hand to associate the trait with his rumbling tummy. "I had three eggs and three slices of bacon for breakfast."

Hanson's face dropped like he knew what he meant, eyes and mouth gaping as he began assembling a sandwich identical to his own. "NO!"

"YES!" He was so grateful someone understood. "How he survives on it is a mystery."

"I force myself to stop." The host thrust a single finger downward with a questioning look to Dante, receiving a gentle shake to his head in return to politely decline the offer.

"You stuffed four fully grown pancakes down your cakehole."

In action, he thought it was right; verbal reiteration made it sound so much worse yet the justification sat to his left, mouth drooling over a mountain of a snack that wasn't finished being constructed. Vergil was in actual awe that his body reacted to Dante the way it did, handling bite for bite everything thrown in said cakehole and not making him feel like a drowning fish. "Correction: you did!"

"Was it cream and ice cream?" Hanson sucked at the drops of sauce on his fingers, rotating his tongue around the tiny smudge on the outside of his pinkie; with all of their experience with Lars, the little barbs were far from getting used to, distending to lap up the dregs of the fiery condiment. "He has a fetish."

Vergil stared into his mouth, evoking the memory of the last rainy day the cartilage-like spikes nearly ripped off his foreskin; it was a good day. "It's called a sweet tooth."

He smiled. "That's a cute name for your stomach, Dante," he said, passing the mountain of meat and veg to the apparently starving demon, trying act cool the closer it got to him as it crossed the frontier of proper etiquette, sliding it closer toward him; Dante's alarm went off in his head and got off his seat, removing the blue coat off the younger's shoulders for the extreme danger that was the fresh serving of flour on top of the roll and folding it over the span of his own stool. The red-clad twin walked around the space, heading for the initial deal-breaker from last night's episode of faulty configuration in all its grey-black clawfoot glory; the empty bathtub brought back the shiny images from the previous night and the offer he stupidly denied at taking a spin in the deep colossus standing silently on all fours, allowing its depth to do the talking as he was followed by the culprit innocently looking past him, his potent eyes begging the twin to take a few steps forward and shove his missed opportunity in the face. "I hope you're not mad."

Hope was a fickle thing; wrath was more candid on which end of the stick he stuck to. "A little; being him isn't easy."

"In what way?"

Dante looked behind him at the brother happily nomming away, probably with a white-stained moustache tainting his own face and broadening what sneer he managed to pull while stuffing his face full of carbs. "Dante is kind; he has a good heart, he cares, he's everything I'm not, which makes this job worse yet simultaneously rewarding." The demon turned, facing toward the living room and speaking softer. "He's sensitive. His moral compass is in the right direction, regardless of the things that come out of his mouth. He has his priorities in order, he's responsible, and he looks damn good doing all those things. He's a protector, putting himself in harm's way before it befalls anyone close to him. I'm too selfish to constitute any of those things."

If Hanson had a functioning heart, it might have broken slightly. "Don't discredit yourself; you're not too far away-"

"It's not discredit, its fact: he has a kid waiting for him at home who loves him to death because of the amazing person he is. If that doesn't make things substantially difficult, I don't know what else could possibly come close." The sentiment was paired with the most solemn he'd ever seen Dante; contempt, respect and pride sprinkled along his features combining to a dull sparkle as he gazed across the room at his own lean back, finishing the touches on the sandwich his brother thoroughly enjoyed. He wasn't cut out for the line of work of the matured being, growing only for self-benefit as a semi-advanced subsidy for the true hero to everyone's story, doing good deeds for the sake of good rewarding himself by coming home in one piece. The main factor of disappointing his twin in the process would confirm two things: one, he didn't deserve the kindness extended to him; two, he didn't know his brother as well as he thought he did. Nothing new, in his opinion. The shoe fit by Dante's intervention; left to his own vices proved more destructive and less stylistic, and he eagerly awaited the moment he'd have to sweep another mess under the metaphorical rug.

In the simplest of terms, Vergil was scared and it showed for the first time in his existence. Why did his brother have to wear his heart on his sleeve? That was the problem, wasn't it? The younger was so full of life that it was impossible to hide his presence that made you smile instantly, countering the feeling of intense dread and fear that he'd worked so hard to achieve to fulfil the purpose that was presupposed on him as an adult. Now it all seemed pointless, the broken pencil proving itself in the outside world thriving on interaction and perspective, having to look people in the eye instead of gouging them out at first glance and perceive beings for their individuality and not the umbrella term their father had instilled in his brain. Little words could be used to explain how much he hated their situation, and even fewer at his impending failure.

Hanson trailed his stare to the floor, switching the tracks of the hybrid's destructive trail of thought with a sugary, toothy smile. "Exactly."

He was fascinating, wasn't he? Strange as he may be, he was the cute side to Lars that vanished when he entered the room, keeping to Dante's side whenever he decided to visit. He allowed the host to raise his face from the floor, cupping them in his freezing cold hands. "Exactly what?"

"Where would he have possibly learnt all of that from?" Every time Dante attempted to wrench his focus to something else, he was coerced back into Hanson's line of sight, fighting the heartfelt moss green orbs that pierced his consciousness. "I don't know what's going through that head of yours, but change it. Dante would never think those things of you."

He knew that, and it killed him. "And you know him so well?"

"I like to think I do. It comes with the irony in this line of business."

The pair remained unmoving for a full minute in an unconventional stare down, no points to get across but rather making him feel a tad more at home in the area he was occupying for a limited time; Hanson's hands dropped to his side when he was certain his words at least reached his hard skull, alternating between the stony expression his brother had made famous and feeble doe eyes as the twin's entire frame relaxed, huffing the doubting, tainted air in his lungs to find light and disappear amid the younger demon's confident aura. Vergil felt that pull once more, inexplicably raw and crushing as it had been minus the big piece of wood between them; on second thought-

"Are the two of you planning to finish what Vergil started yesterday?"

Hanson blushed at the annotation and immediately stopped his subliminal attack, breaking their connection and moving behind Dante's tallness to nudge him to a more neutral space as he shook the frayed ends of the spell from his brain and continued on as normal, placing his coat on the island and sitting next to himself while a whirl of black hair made a second pot. Drunken Vergil started it; Hanson sprouting out pheromones started it; their inner demons would agree it was a mutual decision. "What was I supposed to do? If I had let go on the slice of control I had, I would've been naked in that very bath."

"And on the floor." He flipped the cups over, wiping them out with a cloth. "On the kitchen counter." He set them down on said surface, teaspooning the grains of tar into three mugs. "In the shower." He plopped one pinch of sugar into his cup. "On my bed." He pointed to it. "The spare bed." He pointed to that. "Lars' bed." He aimed behind him with the evilest smile neither twin had ever seen; he was now looking around his house for more possible locations. "The recliner. The patio." He swivelled. "On top of the washing machine with a load on. Tumble dryer after that." He stared at his bedroom door narrowing his eyes. "Yoga ball." And how could he forget the most obvious place? "The couch – every single one of them. Furry carpet right there-"

The kettle chimed in the corner, almost synchronised with Vergil's need to curb his jealousy at taking a deep breath to stop the long-winded rant only to be shushed by the out of place need for Dante to hear the rest of it. Hanson turned back to them and filled their mugs to the top, opening a cupboard below to add some creamer to his cup. "Go on."

He carried on as per instruction, blinking his eyes innocently at the interruption he assumed was his fault. "The pool, cold and then at a higher heat." He handed them over graciously. "And I'd end it in the bath, where everything started. Reheating it, obviously; nobody likes a cold bath," he said, walking up a short staircase to what they assumed was his brother's room and disappearing behind the door.

 _Must I really listen to this?_

 _There were only two more places; you could have waited seven seconds._

 _So now you all of a sudden enjoy hearing about places people would want to make love to you?_

 _In all fairness, I don't think 'make love' is in his vocabulary._

Vergil cringed. _A straight up fuckfest off the bat?_

 _Sure, why not? He'll do as he pleases, Dante. It isn't his fault._

 _Of course it isn't._

Vergil took the last bite of his sandwich and placed the plate in the sink, slumping into his stool keeping his gawk fixed on the steel handles of the kitchen cupboards, sipping at his mug as it singed his taste buds and throat. _What's wrong, Dante?_

He sniggered in his mouth. _Why do you think something's wrong?_

 _Because I always answer questions with questions if I don't want to answer them._

 _I'm fine._ He took another sip. _Really._

 _I'm going to believe you._ No he wasn't, and they both knew it; the lair of an incubus was tricky to the mind and senses, enveloping all that was good, fluffy, naughty, and damning into one condensed space, the highest of sexual concentration picked up by the two hypersensitive demons that were itching for a bite out of one another made crueller and corrupt by Hanson's everyday atmosphere – thick with stimulants of increasing verve, the twins' minds could only endure so much of an assault, succumbing to and personifying heedless emotions concurrently felt by either of them. Dante moved his chair closer to him, setting his head on the open stout shoulder of fresh, goose-fleshy skin. _If it's any consolation, you get to take me home. He doesn't._

He set his mug on the glassy island. _I don't appreciate you reading my mind-_

 _And I don't appreciate being lied to, given our state of affairs._

They were too close to give a shit, with the simplest turn to Vergil's head lining their lips up perfectly. "We can't do this."

Dante agreed with a small bob to his head, staring at his own lips. "We definitely can't."

His eyes flicked upward, starting the coldest fire in the pit of his belly. "Vergil, don't do this-"

"All I did was agree with you." The elder tugged at the zip on his shirt. "Isn't that what you want, Vergil?"

The last consonant made his tongue scratch an itch at the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to kill you when we get home."

Mid pounce and flawlessly on cue, Hanson emerged from the room with a thick brown file in his hands, flipping through the plastic and paper and making sure none of the files were loose, chucking it onto the chair at the bottom of the stairs; he reclaimed his lukewarm cup, going against the rules of nature and heating it up in the microwave as opposed to making a fresh batch upon seeing their mugs above the half way mark. He closed the microwave door and turned to them, clearly out of the loop at the bare-armed very fidgety Vergil and a composed, cross-legged Dante glugging at his coffee like a unique itch had found its way through every stubborn fibre of his body. "You want another cup?"

It was as if his thirstiness came from nowhere. "I'm great thank you."

Hanson twisted at the tedious beeps, giving it a few stirs and dreading the entire experience he'll never relive again. "Isn't there meant to be another person amidst your clashing egos? Another relative that lives with you?" He promised he wouldn't push the subject and just graze the surface, fishing for the bare minimum of information to clear his conscience.

"Nero?" Vergil spoke; it would have been stupid to assume the detective wouldn't tell his brother about the boy, but they were both shocked to hear he knew about the four year old exchange. "Not a relative, but family. What about him?"

That's the one; Lars didn't change his name as he'd promised. "How's he handling it?"

Dante answered, a soundless request aimed at his younger twin and he fell quiet. "He doesn't know."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Stupidly, no. Things would be easier and tougher if we did."

Hanson understood the implication that knowing would be harder to decipher than not knowing; his legs would consciously walk to Vergil and unintentionally address him as just, only to snap the cogs into place at the realisation that it was Dante he was speaking to and not the intended twin, retracing his steps to finding the other and struggle with his cognizance at facing the wrong aesthetic. It would be easier on him not to know and more difficult for them, but they seemed to be edging toward the decision that acted in Nero's favour and not their own, and that was admirable; it revealed more about them as people and how they felt about their kin, which was far from any expectation the incubus could have hoped. How the focus of their efforts continued to change as seconds flew by was amazing. "I heard he came from a bad home."

The lawyer gloves were on, being careful on his wording to someone as harmless as him, but he could never be too certain on who to trust. "No home, but money coming from somewhere so he could go to school."

"That's harsh." The momentary stern tinge to the air dissolved quickly under Vergil's quick action, pulling out his phone and gliding his finger over the screen as the lines connected the dots in an outrageous pattern only beings with a lot of time on their hands could uncover, passing it over to look at the wallpaper of the three of them: Vergil had taken it, the sole living moment the twins would ever yield to the appalling selfie mode, all three smiling in their Sunday best and Nero in his high school graduation cap and gown with the Cum Laude medal between his teeth, matching Converse sneakers gracing their feet. Dante would never forget the day Nero had asked to make a phone call that lasted fifteen seconds, handing the phone over to see the embarrassing picture that wasn't meant to see the light of day smile at him and having to endure it every time he needed his phone. "Quite the handsome one."

"He gets that from me." The device was handed back to him, taking one last look at the nightmare that will haunt him again in fifteen minutes time. "Also, don't think I'm sentimental or anything; I don't know how to change it back."

The younger man was beginning to feel it, ever so thankful he wouldn't have to keep his brain functioning for much longer. "It's still really difficult to register that you're not Vergil." He took a long, satisfying sip of his drink.

Vergil huffed. "Tell me about it. I need a mirror every time I speak just to remind myself to switch to 'three syllable' mode."

Dante puffed. "The next thing you should ask is if he knows what he's saying. Otherwise it's all a case of 'I use big words to try and equestrian people so I can accurately photosynthesis'."

Hanson did precisely what Vergil had tried not to, turning to the sink as quickly as he could before spewing the brown liquid along the back wall and a little bit into his deep silver goal post; the fact that it was said with a straight face added much to be desired, coughing for any excess liquid down his windpipe. "You two are unbelievable."

Vergil calmed from his inward giggling fit. "Oh no, that's you. Who does magic that can't be undone?"

"That's the only reason I do it." He coughed, laughed and tried to breath at the same; Dante chuckled lightly reaching him and patted him softly on the back, increasing the pressure until he heard a rib snap in two. He was testing the waters of his new strength, the best choice of the day having that happen to someone who took ages to die, much like himself. The twin continued in dainty circles upward, relaxing the heaving muscles for the coffee to go either down or up and eventually cause little discomfort to the poor man; the heat of his skin did wonders for his task, pacifying him until the world seemed normal again. The smile on his face said otherwise. "You still owe me an answer."

And with that sneer, he felt absolutely horrible about what had happened in the past few seconds: Hanson found that grin hovering over his shoulder to check his breathing, proffering a nod in return to confirm that he was okay; the elder twin turned with him, ruefully facing Vergil who waved him off and sinking into a different dimension of serendipity with Dante's hands massaging his shoulders from behind in apology, abusing the advantage of his brother's body in standing too close and trapping him between a rock and a hard place. The younger man craved the attention, forgetting his troubles the instant the pressure untied the knots under Vergil's skilled fingertips, the solution dead set flashing under his eyelids as he closed them to soak up the feeling of his mindful caress in all its dark chocolate glory.

Dante bent devilishly low at his ear falling victim to the heightened sensitivity of his wits, tingling at the indisputable velvet honouring his ear canal. "You prefer my scent. You'd sniff your way to me and taste it for yourself, choosing to not getting it like second-hand smoke regardless of what form I inhabit; because demons would associate everything with the sense of smell first, you have no option but to be drawn to me. I could be possessed by a plushie or get lost in a crowd and you'd still be able to find me."

Vergil grabbed his coat off the island after checking the time. "And as Vergil-esque as that sounds, it's completely true."

It better be. "Does that mean Lars prefers Dante's scent?"

"Could be, but not necessarily." The possibility of the incubus not liking toffee caramel had yet to be ruled out. "He likes another, more tangible part of me."

Hanson finally opened his eyes, growling in the back of his throat at the loss of the heavenly contact. "We're grown men. You can say dick."

The twins did the final touches on each other to take their leave, not wanting to step out of his place in any state other than immaculate. "I would say dick. Vergil wouldn't."

Dante nodded, giving his brother the once over with an impish expression. "I wouldn't. I would have said penis and made everyone uncomfortable."

And that's exactly what it did.

* * *

They got to the bottom of the steel staircase with no formal goodbyes; Hanson watched from above as a hunch pinched the back of his brain, running back inside to grab the brown file he'd fetched earlier; he was definite in his decision to ask for help at the time, gathering all the stray pieces of paper with the Police Department's letterhead that he could find splayed in the clean room but changed his mind last minute, the folder finding peace in the comfy chair instead of in the hands of the two people he knew would uncover the truth. Once again, his conscience caught up with him as he scrambled down the steps two by two, defying the laws of gravity to catch up with the walking pair. Dante rotated on his heel first, his hearing a hint stronger than his brother's as the barman jogged toward them, tugging on the blue coat for Vergil to turn as well; they shared a baffling look, meeting him halfway before his lungs caved in. "I wanted to ask you something," he said, his gaze directed more toward the younger of the two; Dante gave him a nod for some privacy but was promptly pulled back by a soft, shaking hand and two glossy emeralds pleading with the depths of his soul. "You too, Vergil."

This couldn't be good, but they knew what it was for. "What's up?"

He looked at both of them in turn and found his needed courage and comfort in their cerulean orbs. "Can I… give you a call tomorrow if Lars hasn't come home?" The file came from behind him and into Vergil's hands like a hot potato he wanted nothing to do with. "These are the case files he was working on before he disappeared; maybe there's something in there that might be useful."

Dante looked at it and noted its slender breadth. "You don't need us to go now?"

"I doubt one day will make a difference."

"One day makes all the difference."

Their eagerness warmed his heart. "I think you'd be in better shape by tomorrow."

"We both will, I'm certain."

Hanson nervously scratched the back of his head, the file moving between the twins and the A4 binding pocketed by Dante. "I'll pay the normal fee."

There was no such thing and no way would the true Dante have him pay a cent; the afterthought was, however, commendable – Vergil pointed to his chest, prodding the white cotton shirt in the sternum to drill it home. "I'll charge tax if there's a scratch on him."

The demon looked at the digit embedded in his chest and smiled, feeling the passion of wanting to find him escape his fingertips and engulf his tired lungs, floating upward and seeping into his brain, opening his eyes wider to the danger and delight of each conceivable outcome; his hand was gentle as he grabbed his wrist, spreading his fingers while soothingly rubbing them between his own. "Fine by me."

Dante fought to not sift through his mind to scope out his true anxiety, seemingly arguing with himself for those very thoughts to not find their way to the surface and give away how uneasy his situation was. "We'll do all we can," he said as Vergil joined his side, poking the file in its place upon seeing the frightening determination in his own eyes. "Also because of your standing, I am obliged to ask you for any custom requests you may have."

He suddenly turned shy, like the happiest thought had just crossed his mind. "Break every bone in their body for me, would you?"

Finally, something up his alley; Dante bowed his head in a consider-it-done manner, reaching for the outstretched hand and lacing their fingers milliseconds before they were teleported into a dark side alley that led to the front of the store they were meant to be at with ten minutes to spare. Vergil crossed his arms and walked a short length up and down the dingy opening, striving to not touch any part of his uniform to the grime on the unclean walls; the elder stood in his default position, hands folded behind his back as he observed what a squirmy mess he was for no reason in particular. "Please calm down, Dante."

"I am calm. I'm excited, I guess." He kicked a lost can down the opposite end of the alley. "Been waiting for this day for a while."

"You were reminded of it this morning, sass and all."

And what a keepsake the one-man production was. "I was reminded of how giddy I was at the concept."

He was terrible at lying; Vergil picked it up instantly, but only because he knew the incessant jerk to his foot and the miniscule twitch in his right palm to give it away. "I'm really sorry this happened."

Vergil's head snapped up. "Don't be-"

"Just know that I am." Dante's voice went to nearly a whisper, merely growling in the narrow corridor; if there was one thing he never wanted to hear ever again, it was Vergil apologising for something that wasn't directly his fault, resulting in it ending up overshooting it mark and making both of them hanker a level of guilt that progressed further than it's intended purpose at the sheer weight his words carried with them, even if its design instructed for the burden to be lifted off their shoulders and not the other way around.

It felt like forever until one of them broke the silence, hating the heavy air between them. "Fine," said Vergil, walking to him and nudging a fist into his twin's arm. "Case closed, okay?"

He agreed, but he was far from letting it go. "One last thing." Dante checked the street, empty as it would ever be at lunch time, calling him over with a slant to his head that the coast was clear. "You do realise you ate just before fitting on a custom suit."

That eerie, wayward smile was back, looking damn good and also befitting for the fresh youth to pull off. "You should realise I burned it off on the way here."

There was a better spring to his step as he emerged, dispelling quickly with a quick glance in the shop window and realising how out of place he looked in the soundless street; the flash of an idea surged from the base of his neck and fizzed its way to his mind, standing on his toes to be the correct height of the mannequins on display, placing his face in the area allocated for the missing plastic head and adjusted his imagined tie with the peaks of each shoulder protruding beyond the margins of the plastic ones. "Look how good I look." He almost forgot. "Sorry, look how good YOU look."

He looked like he was having so much fun. _You should have been the bigger brother._

Thankfully, Vergil wasn't concentrating. "What?"

"Nothing." He walked across the exhibit, pulled at the handle and opened it for his brother to step through. "Shall we?"

The shop was small and proper, filled with floor-to-ceiling hanging racks galore of suits of different colours and styles, each with its own accent that made each coupling unique; shelves of shirts, ties, pocket squares, hats and top hats, cufflinks and other accessories sat next to them; random boxes along the tiles had various pictures of shoes on them, one box per style, with a huge 'Display only –ask for assistance' sign leaning against the wall; a single curtain pulled back separated the store from a corridor of changing rooms in the middle of the area, as well as the measurements room which they'd disregarded visiting the day after Dante had made the announcement. The smells of the place were now putting the lost pieces of the puzzle back into their memories, looking at each other as their faces changed the more they remembered coming here in the first place.

As far as they knew, only two people worked there: the tailor herself and her younger sister who managed the administration. They had come on a Saturday before closing time by a special request made by Nero himself – much like today – to have their dimensions sized out and scribbled on a fancily printed piece of paper for her to do her magic by. At that time, it was just her in the shop; they assumed the petite auburn-haired youngster typing away at a keyboard was the sister Nero spoke of, twisting her chair after hearing the door click into its cradle. "Aha, our only appointment for today has arr-" her jaw dropped at the sight of the double whammy of sexy, smiling the same welcoming smile her way as they reflexively activated their boyish, innocently wicked charm, filling in any needed gaps in their visit to the shop; she took a deep breath and completed her thought, "-ived," turning to the curtain with pain etched everywhere on her body. "Lyn?" No answer. "Lynette?" A bit louder; a bit more frantic. "LYNETTE?!" Full blown comical panic, pressing a concealed button under the desk.

A voice came from beyond the grey fibres. "I TOLD YOU TO ONLY PRESS THAT DAMN BUTTON FOR EMERGENCIES!"

As far as they were concerned, she wasn't in any danger. "THIS IS ONE!"

A face that they'd begin to remember stepped through the opening, loose strands of red hair dishevelled everywhere on top of a rich Irish accent, measuring tape around her neck and pins stuck through her cotton sleeves. She was as hardcore as the first day, kicking ass and chewing metaphorical gum putting up the heaviest of filters for every third word to not sound like or be 'fuck'. "You can't handle yourself against two fully-grown men? I'm ashamed." She walked to her sister and set off the alarm. "Although I won't lie; all flavours of terror soaked my trousers the first time I saw them." Susan still hadn't closed her mouth, her gaze moving in quick succession between the twins. "It wears off after the initial bang to your underwear," she said, bending to retrieve something from a lower drawer behind the counter. "And in case you haven't noticed, the key is to keep telling yourself that. Do you have any idea how badly I had to practice restrain to not go anywhere near their wiggly bits?" Lynette moved toward them holding a pair of flat boxes and industrial strength hangers covered in draping plastic which they presumed were their created ensembles. "Hello; you seemed to have stopped her adolescent brain functioning."

She passed the boxes to Dante, keeping a firm grip on her latest masterpieces. "You still went near them."

"Only because what you've got going on down there should be cut off and hung in the Smithsonian." She looked at Susan who now had lockjaw. "I did warn her. The words there are: TWO HANDSOME DEVILS. Bold, red and double-underlined in case it wasn't clear enough."

And alas, she finally spoke, albeit as broken as her hopes and dreams. "I did-" she swallowed, took a deep breath, continued by the skin of her teeth. "I didn't-"

"-expect it to be literal? When have I ever lied on the calendar?" The Irish goddess pointed to said article. "That is the truthiest truth you will ever come near. Not my fault you can't read." She gave no chance for her poor sister to defend herself, and it looked like she didn't need it. "Okay, so we're gonna give them a spin, put them on and see if you can walk in them, check if they're comfortable; if not, tell me immediately and don't try to hide it. When you're happy – see, I said when and not if, because I know what I'm doing – we can come out here and pick out one or two ties, whichever you prefer, a pocket square approved by me, and extra shirt if you want and a good pair of cufflinks to finish it all off – sound good?"

Dante chose the safest nod he could gather, but Vergil couldn't resist. "Really good."

Lynette tasted the distilled, sweetest whiskey in the back of her throat, turning her face sour at the inappropriate and prejudiced fantasies flooding her brain. "Don't sass me, young man; I'm this close getting you to strip and leaving you that way until you die." The tailor worked too quickly for them to sneak in a quick giggle, holding up the two bags and reading the labels for the single difference in their preferred designs, turning to Vergil. "You're the all black?"

He nodded gracefully, not taking any more chances and doing what Vergil would. "I am."

"Of course you are – you need something to match that cane up your arse."

Dante hid his face with the boxes in his hands, shoulders jerking uncontrollably at the discovery of someone sassier than his brother. "I will agree with that." He looked to Dante. _I kinda have to._

Lynette turned her back and ticked the air on an invisible list, scanning the products in the quaint shop to make sure she had everything she needed. "Why are you not giving him a hard time?"

She spun, her hands sinking to her hips as they swayed to one side, pointing her chin to Dante's package. "For my own safety – I don't want to experience him hard." He gave in this time, folding himself over in hysterics at the straight face that delivered the insulting compliments his way and the red face burning over her shoulder. "Oh, you can do that. Doesn't it get in the way?"

The tears were close. "Surprisingly not as much as you'd thi-" Dante's phone rang in Vergil's pocket, Super Mario's 8-bit musical genius stemming from the vibrating blue pocket; Vergil stuck his hands out for the boxes and pushed his hip out for Dante to retrieve his brother's cell, hiding the grin as his favourite name blazed across the screen. "Please give me a moment," he said, going outside to answer the call.

Lynette's gaze followed him out the glass door. "He can have as many damn moments as he needs."

Oh, why not? One more chance won't hurt his ego. "How many can I have?"

She gave it some thought. "Two." He raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow for her reasoning. "You don't look the type to enjoy phone calls." That was fair. She couldn't have been more right.

Outside the shop, Dante swiped the green bar on the screen to connect the call. "Devil May Cry."

 _"You know who it is; why can't you say hello?"_

He was in too good of a mood. "Hello Nero. To what do I owe the honour?"

 _"Did you guys make it safely?"_

"You're-" he checked the top right corner of the screen, "-twenty one minutes too late to ask that."

Vergil could tell he was chirpy on the other end of the line. _"I know; I was soaking in Vergil's tub and lost track of time. Don't tell him."_

"I don't think he'd mind, Nero." He really wouldn't. "He'd know anyway."

 _"That's true. I'm too lazy to make it seem untouched."_

How many times had he done it before to have such a strategy in place? "Leave it as is; if he asks I'll take the fall."

 _"How could you even spin that if you've been together the entire morning?"_

"I'll find a way." He always did, didn't he? "Was there anything else you needed?"

There was; he could hear Nero's hesitation, following a set pattern of popping his lips after breathing through his nose. _"Nope, just checking in. Do you know how they look?"_

Even if he did know he wouldn't tell him. "We were just about to go in-"

 _"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll leave you to it then."_ More popping. _"Don't forget the chocolate."_

"Ah, the truth sets you free, doesn't it?"

Vergil heard the crumple to his face. _"Shut up."_

"I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

 _"Hurry back; I'm all moisturised for your spanking."_

He tapped the red button before something tasteless left his mouth, cutting his chuckle in half for good measure. Dante stepped back into the shop and into position, claiming the boxes and ready to get things over and done with. "The two of you ready?"

They both nodded and spoke in true twinly fashion. "Yes ma'am."

"Then let's get started," she said, looking to her sister who was still bright red in the face. "You! No peeking – they'll poke your eye out." With a single, powerful tug, they disappeared behind the curtain as Susan deepened her shade of crimson.

* * *

The house was oddly quiet when they came home, armfuls of grocery shopping and bags of various plastic densities, making sure to lay their customed attire over the back of the couch as per their Irish instruction; Dante closed his eyes and concentrated on all three levels of their home, needlessly scanning each room hastily for a gentle hum of a heartbeat to lead him in the right direction – instead, a fast uneven rhythm drummed from the other side of his bedroom door, holding his breath for whatever was occupying his time. He passed over the brown cardboard bag from Nero's favourite chocolatier, holding it out to his brother by the golden rope that matched the writing on either side of the bag. "Give it to him."

Vergil set his portion of the bags on their dining table, his hand hovering over the coloured handles. "But you bought it."

The elder shrugged. "You relate more to it than I do."

"You eat it more than I do."

Another shrug, harmlessly slanting his head to the side. "Precisely; there's no guarantee he'll get any if I take it."

Vergil pulled a face looking inside the bag, rolling his eyes at his brother as their eyes met. "Don't try it. You only eat sixty percent and up; this bag is filled with standard milk-" Dante pulled out the doe eyes, raising his eyebrows with a small pout to his lips and clutching the bag tighter in a limping wrist, tugging on the lone heartstring he gingerly plucked in these situations, careful to not pull too hard but just enough for the string through his brother's hand to meet his own and clasp the carrier, dropping his broad shoulders at being defeated by his own features. "Fine. It's you next time though." The elder kept the façade until Vergil's fate was sealed at Nero's door, gently turning the knob and opening it, peeking for an open path to direct his attack; Dante trod to the kitchen having worked up an appetite at all the nothing-doing he and his brother had ventured upon, scavenging in the fridge for the leftovers of breakfast for a little improvised cooking.

Nero was at the age to try new things and expand his horizons in every facet of his life; whether it be school or play, he was always working and researching things that fancied his OCD tickle by the simplest of words or unbreakable trains of thought that only existed in his brain. For the past three months, he had developed a fetish for horror and getting scared out of his wits for no apparent reason other than to relieve an extreme condition of constipation he wasn't suffering from; he began working on building a stable resistance to the scary arts by watching some of the older movies of the genre with the twins who flinched none – at some point he was worried their brains and nerve centres weren't connected to their immobile bodies – while he grabbed anything in reach to cover his eyes, still getting frightened by the sheer ferocity of the sound systems they implemented to scare the living shit out of him. With a suitable immunity, he then branched into video games, jumping into the deep end for his stout ego to take a massive blow from the get-go, constantly reminding himself he'd get used to the stylistic choices of colour and black noise but making no promises he'd get better at playing the game as it's supposed to instead of deploying his own tactic of running full speed in the opposite direction of the main objective. Nero had given up on the mainstream titles during the wintery seasons – he blamed the halt on the lightning interfering with his infrared headphones – and now he'd picked up a new franchise, allowing the twins a more multicoloured scope of his cursing ability that got more and more creative the more he beat the game on its varying levels of difficulty. What started as naïve 'oh why did you have to go and do that?' slowly evolved to the more complex 'YOU ILL-BEGOTTEN SACK OF OCTOPUS EXCREMENT' and 'PIECE OF GARBAGE COCK-RAMMING ASS-BLASTING BITCHLOID' to decipher, he slowly became a sucker for the randomised jumpscares of the numerous disgusting and cute animatronics that sprang from invisible air pockets of terror and paid the price in heavy black pockets of fatigued skin under his eyes. The futile and unjustified addiction was allowed, so much so that he'd snagged Dante along for the ride that was watching over the supposed family friendly restaurant; Vergil was particular as hell, pointing out the inconsistencies in the mechanics and security system until a well-known chicken carrying a cupcake bounced into his line of sight, unflinching and confused, turning to them mid frown with a prim and proper 'what the actual fuck am I playing?' and decorating the bland black and grey stripes of the boy's walls while the sleep-deprived pair burst into a fit of laughter on the bed behind him.

Vergil snuck through a small gap as he saw Nero click 'Continue' on his screen, leaving the door ajar and patiently waiting for the string of profanities that signalled failure that was sure to come; his fingers were lightning fast on the keyboard, talking to himself and telegraphing every move of each individual toy and laughing as he messed up after one of them had entered his room, shaking his head at the tall red fox with two rows of teeth getting too close for comfort and ending what was a short-lived attempt at the hardest difficulty available. The hybrid took a step forward and made sure to make some noise, slamming his foot into the marble tile on purpose for him to whizz in his seat; with one hand in his coat pocket, he extended the bag with a half-smile, trying to be cute. "I come in peace."

Nero left his chair and remained on the main menu, scratching his neck below his ear. "I almost had it." Vergil further separated his frame from the ticking time bomb and its detonator, praying his brother managed to get all of them this time and eliminating the earful they would have to hear for the rest of the week that they'd somehow missed a bar or two, and that the missing bar happened to be his favourite for the week. It was all for laughs and, again, activating the guilty plug that only existed for him, and in the end they gave into the remorse, buying one of every slab on display just to keep him happy. An accustomed once a month treat next to their grocery shopping, his chocolate became synonymous with cake at teatime, a routine they'd been whipped into adhering since word got out his beloved store had moved close by. He took the joke to his belt, softly 'clipping the wires' and relieving the twin of responsibility, looking at the tower of sugar with a satisfied grin. "You're getting better."

He comically wiped his hands on his trousers, erasing any trace of existence the bag had on him. "Unlike someone I know."

"I lose on purpose."

"If that were the case you should have three stars instead of two."

He put the carrier on his desk, reaching in and pulling out a lone red square of dense chocolate. "How do you know that?"

Shit. How would Vergil know? "Dante told me."

"Dante hasn't played in a while-"

"And that's why you only have two stars?" Vergil pulled a Dante; hands on his hips, pushing his weight onto his left leg and swinging his right arm in front of him, diverting Nero's attention to have to scale up his entire body before he met the flirtatious face that doubled as the sole reason men could to get pregnant. "For shame!"

The human had his run in with the anomaly a while back, building imperviousness that proved useless in the long run. "Here; you usually have this one."

He plopped the red brick into his hand as he always did, as Vergil would deliberately forget to take it out. The twin accepted it with as much grace as necessary, watching the soft hand trail lightly up his fingers, tickling the grown man. "I'll put it to good use, thank you," he said, patting himself on the back that he'd remembered his manners. He let it drop into his outer left pocket, making the mistake of picking up at the happy dread reverberating from the smaller man. His face told an entire different story, its usual organised mask thickly layered to disguise the words making his throat itch. "Out with it."

As per routine he'd play coy, gaging how badly either twin would want to hear what he had to say. "Out with what-"

"Out. With. It." Vergil superimposed his massive frame to loom over the boy, encasing him in a warning shadow while a tender hand found the side of his face; 'he's testing your patience, Vergil' he said repeatedly in his head, now burning to get to their small underground gym and beat his ego to a pulp. "It's about time you realise that I can smell when something's wrong, especially with you. Not wrong per say, but when something's cooking you get that look on your face that's just… damn, what's the word?" Alluring? Spoiled? Annoyingly irresistible? A trap? "Tempting."

That was the last thing he expected to hear from him. "Tempting?"

"Irrevocable." His thumb grazed his jawline, prompting a vindicated lean toward his warm touch. "It tastes like a cinnamon roll-up; toffee flavoured frozen yoghurt; speckled eggs; those biscuit things with the sticky red sugar jam swirl stuff in the middle."

He meant strawberry whirls. "I thought you were allergic to fun."

"I have a full drawer in my room, and don't change the subject." The hand on his jaw shifted to the back of his head holding it in place to set three perfect powerful flicks to his forehead, cradling his neck as he delivered the blows mercilessly and blowing into his eyes to make it more uncomfortable; he hated it back then and he hated it now, developing as a mini form of punishment when he refused to eat his sweets they gave him as reward – his dependence to chocolate came from the abuse, resulting in an identical sweet tooth to his main guardian and a majority vote against Vergil when it came to the option of dessert.

Highly irritated and fighting off a smile, Nero clutched the man's forearm just above the bend in his elbow; he took a deep breath and swallowed his nerve, receiving an encouraging nod from Vergil. "I think I'm ready to tell Dante."

Nero looked at him as if he was meant to know, but he was, wasn't he? "Tell him what?"

He squeezed the supple limb. "You know what."

"I wish I did-"

A booming, smooth voice came from the kitchen. "DANTE, YOU WANT SOMETHING TO EAT?"

Vergil's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets; his resting bitch face burned straight through the wall at where his senses told him his brother was lurking, unconsciously gripping at Nero's roots at the sudden Freudian slip. He suddenly felt the frown effervesce, seeing the reaction in his blind spot to the constriction in his wrist – he wouldn't let the boy live this down, scrunching his nose and clenching his teeth at the welcomed surge in the back of his head. The twin chuckled sadistically at the endless possibilities to the new advantage as the other man realised his mistake one heartbeat too late, glowing in pure pink marshmallow while the icy blue gaze dropped to the tiny movement of his throat down the low buttons at his collarbone.

"OF COURSE YOU DO, ME; WHY WOULD YOU ASK?" He could see his own body with both hands in the air, proclaiming glory to the consumable about to meet his intestines. "HIGH FIVE!" A loud clap followed. Yes, that did just happen.

"I'm beyond worrying with that one."

Vergil fought the temptation to leave Nero's side and give him a proper one. "Tell me about it; there are times when I doubt we're twins, but then I catch a glimpse of that face and it makes my mouth water, and the doubt disappears."

The comment earned him a nice punch to the chest which may have hurt if he wasn't ripped to shreds. The younger man turned his head back to the static outline of the cuddly teddy bear that was his newly established symbol of hatred, neglecting the incomplete thought for a lighter, fluffier mood. "I'm gonna try it one more time. I'll be out in a bit." He could take a hint, nodding quickly as all points of contact scorched from its missing counterpart; Nero caught his hand just in time, placing a small kiss to his open palm before whirling to his office chair to begin a new chain of unpredictable vulgarities.

He left him to his vices keeping a gap in the door because his conscience would never forgive the missed comedic gold that would peek from that door and yonder; his anger wasn't something to joke about, but damn his passion for losing was commendable as each thwarted outcome brought music to their ears. Vergil looked to the kitchen to see a busy Dante pouring two tall glasses of the smoothie with extra ice cream scooped at the bottom, seizing the half of a dry waffle between his teeth and moving quickly to where his brother stood and passing one of the glasses over. He took a big bite of the cake and let it fall into his open hand. "Good save," he said, gulping for his parched mouth, "but the self-five hurt. Just a little."

Dante held his hand up and Vergil delivered instantly. "Better?"

"Much." He hung his mouth open for a piece. "Do you have any idea what's going on with Nero?" He switched hands, reaching for the red brick and wordlessly handing it over.

The elder took a bite, opening the foil single-handedly. "Whaaa aghes yeh ghaay daaah?" He chewed like a rabbit at the volume, puffing his cheeks to handle his greatest enemy; he swallowed and wiped the crumbs off his face, passing it over once more. "What makes you say that?"

Vergil kept his stare on the door; it was too quiet. Maybe he was actually winning. "He said he's ready to tell me something. Do you know what it might be?"

The chocolate lived a good life, beginning to melt on his tongue. "It could be anything."

"Not with that face it wasn't." He took a sip. "What if he got a girl pregnant?"

Mid waffle bite, he stopped. "I don't think that's what-"

He stared longer, willing his demonic power into the stealthy puppets. "Does he know how to have sex?"

Dante nearly choked. "I don't think that's the question we should be asking-"

"We didn't have the talk with him yet. How could he know?"

"He lives in a house with you; that's how he knows."

"But what if." It was close. The storm was building. He could accurately count the seconds before lightning struck. "I'm going to have to give him a massive slap across the face, but wouldn't that be exciting?"

He snapped his fingers. "FUUUUUUDGEKNUCKLE PIMPERNICKLED SACK OF POTATO SKINS!"

Dante rolled his eyes. "Dante, that's really important news; don't you think he'd tell you immediately? You said he was ready. That means it's been stewing for a time."

Vergil pointed a finger to his chest, single eyebrow flashing upward. "What if he was scared to tell us?"

"Nero? Scared? The only things that give him the creeps are those robots he keeps playing with."

This time, Dante could smell the tinge of sour milk before it came. "OH MY FUCKING CACTUS PLANT YOU HAIRY BITCH!"

That was a good one. "But if you're wrong, can you just imagine those tiny feet running up and down this room-" The shock hit him even more, his finger now repeatedly prodding at his own ribcage, his face lighting up like Christmas in July and gaping open like a broken Christmas cracker. He spoke in a sharp whisper with veins popping from his neck at keeping the ants in his pants. "I'm gonna be a grandpa!"

"No one is becoming a grandpa, Dante."

He wasn't going to let him be a buzzkill. "You don't know that… unless… you do."

"I don't know a thing. I couldn't possibly know. You'd know first, you know that."

"I know you know I know that." Vergil bit another piece at what was left in his brother's clutches. "What kind of confession would a tall, handsome, intelligent, caring, loving, innocent, handsome eighteen year old have?"

His irrationality had reason on those grounds, dead wrong as they were. "You said handsome twice."

The younger moved closer to him. "We've been over this-"

"He gets it from you, what else is there to say, blah blah blah…" He put the last piece in his mouth and followed the dryness with a splash of blended fruit and ice cream. Dante knocked his head into his kin's shoulder, pleading with him to not overthink something that probably wasn't as complicated as he was making it out to be. "Just keep an open mind, okay?"

That was an absolute guarantee. "My mind is as open as a vagina on Wednesdays." Vergil killed his thought for a second, pointing toward the door. "YOU RIMPLESKINNED LEATHER TESTACLED BOWLEGGED SALLY SACKER OF A FUCKERNUT!"

Dante lingered on his brother's shoulder, mesmerised by the smile on his face, trying to seal the memory in the darkest recesses of his mind to perchance grasp the ability to bewitch him the same way; he couldn't believe how he'd managed to transform all he'd worked to build into something better and more likeable, three hundred and sixty five degrees from what he was used to yet happy to observe in its unfair entirety. The new Dante set unrealistic standards in such a short time, and watching from a distance how his happiness had the ability to alter three moods at once was an astonishing eye opener from a fairly one-sided perspective – the side he thought was better for the people around him was nothing but a projection of his own insecurities on his belief in the inability to be the person he thought he wasn't, and Dante had proved him wrong in every interaction thus far and breaking the restrictions of his own thinking. Vergil hadn't comprehended the intense stare on him until he stared back, flipping through his catalogue of suitable responses and finding nothing predetermined for the look he was getting. "I'm… serious… about the talk…" They were shoulder to shoulder. "The birds and the bees." Vergil's body moved on autopilot to face his brother. "The banana and the avocado." Dante pulled his button free. "The cucumber and the Twinkie." His fly soon followed. "The liquorice allsort and double-glazed doughnut." The tiniest of kisses bubbled to the surface, forcing the twins to surrender any control over the situation. "Please make me stop."

Dante pulled the zip of his shirt three quarters of the way down. "If you want to stop, you can stop."

Vergil's trained touch released two of the three golden clips on his chest. "Don't do this to me a second time, I'm begging you." His words held very little impact on his actions, moving from its perch at his chest down to his slim waist where his obstinate grip on his red coat grew taut in angry hunger. "It hurts, it really does."

He could feel the unbearable pain pulsating on his inner right thigh. "How many more times do I have to say this isn't me?"

"This is you. I've learned my lesson and I get it; just please stop." Vergil regained command of his frame, detaching himself from the elder's hold and tidying up before Nero finished his slice of dismay. "I would propose going on my knees, but that would be counterproductive." Dante gave in to his logic, taking a step back with his hands in full submission; the rest of the afternoon was where they'd be needing their full focus most, utilising what energy reserves they have in putting on the best method acting they'd ever see. The younger hybrid began fixing Dante's clips, strapping him in once again and trying to ignore the heated fumes radiating from his chest.

He stood still, however, watching his brother be more mindful that any touch to his naked flesh would prove his willpower in vain. "I don't like this."

Neither did he, and every bone in his body was leading his subconscious to do the right thing; it didn't help at all that part of him nestled snuggly between his nerve endings, leaving Vergil to deal with white hot rage that was kept on the leash. "We have to suck it up, Vergil."

"That's fine. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Dante raised his head and scrunched his face, restabilising the foundation of his thought processes to here and now; the inviting expression vanished, replaced by his trademark indifferent grimace as his arms where pinned to his sides, thinking too slow to comprehend the lightning fast kiss planted on his lips; Vergil hovered in the air as it ended in a blink, the tension melting from his brother's face causing a rippling effect to the rest of his edgy form. The red demon took his chance with another – obscene, steamy, cursory, wholesome fascination, and rich and creamy in every flavour – thrusting his tongue into the comfortable familiarity of his own mouth, a small moan in the back of his throat at the overwhelming taste of their combined scents mingling perfectly in his psyche. They broke apart in a milky haze to their icy orbs, their heads snapping to the sounds coming from beyond Nero's door. "Later, okay?"

That would have to keep them until after dinner. Dante calmly shook his head as Vergil refluffed his hair, releasing the leftover residue of their act from the tips of his fingers. "There won't be time-"

"I'M GOING TO MOP THE FLOOR WITH YOUR FLUFFY FACE BUT I'LL BE DAMNING MYSELF BECAUSE I WON'T BE ABLE TO GET INTO THE CORNERS VERY WELL!" It was always when the insults began to make sense did he stop to recover lost brain cells, doing something completely different to wash away the good taste in his mouth and allow the filth to flow back into his system; on cue his bedroom door swung inward, pulling his cotton sleeves over his hands and rubbing his eyes in fury, inflating his cheeks with his deep breaths. Looking at the identical features must have calmed him somewhat, a big weight visibly lifting from his defeated mind and heart at being bested by malfunctioning toys.

Vergil gaped at the mass of black walking toward them. "Let me guess. You got close."

"Nowhere near." Nero went straight to the kitchen and fiddled with the coffee machine as relief washed over the pair, grateful he walked straight past and missed the double faceful of sex standing at attention with misleading smirks on their faces. "I need an internal hug of something really strong."

He looked frantically around the kitchen, eyes darting from one appliance to the next, opening cupboards like a madman until memory found him, dipping to the pantry for the industrial stainless-steel blender at the farthest end of the shelves covered in boxed, canned, and dry foods and vegetables; it was one way in one way out, accidentally tripping over a bag of potatoes on the way there, telling the elder exactly where he was in the long room. He turned to his body and leaned into the crook of the neck as his own hand slowly snuck under the coat and around his muscular waist. "I always get what I want, Dante, whether you like it or not."

The brother bent low too, tucking his lips behind the red collar as he whispered in a gravelly voice, gnawing at his concrete ego. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Verge." He could smell the distinct aroma of his potent smirk curling along the shell of his ear, tingling on the cartilage and making the short silver baby hairs at the back of his neck stand to new heights. Dante's body moved on autopilot, closing his eyes as they rolled into his skull with his head falling back into demon-spiced oblivion, grabbing hold of the waistband of Vergil's trousers with two firm grips; the twin did it on purpose, relieving the torture moments before Nero resurfaced with his prized possession beside a bag of ice.

He set it gently on the counter and removed the rest of the required ingredients from the comfort of their darkened nests. "Normal coffee won't cut it this time." He left the machine to do its magic, steadily dripping into the glass jug underneath and remembering to fetch something in his room, stopping dead in front of the two black suit covers hanging over the couch; he was tempted to rip them open with utmost care, used to his favourite tailor's handiwork and knowing that what she'd done was the closest thing to perfect on this planet. He'd provided stellar puppets suited to her style and skill, her level of expertise and craft on par with some of the better designers of the twenty first century with a dirty mouth as an added bonus, and he had no doubt that the twenty magic wands she had attached to her palms did the most justice to her newest creations. Nero's mouth watered at the prospect, seeing them in rich fabrics designed to fit and accentuate every curve impeccably was a hypothesis he needed to see to believe, knowing indefinitely that he'd make it through the rest of the day unscathed. "You're not gonna put them on?"

The coupling set aside their naughty banter in favour of keeping Nero's supposed virtue. "We know what we look like."

The boy shook his head, already having made up his mind on how the next half an hour was going to go. "I don't. Up you go; meet in ten."

Vergil took offense to it, mainly owing to being too lazy to have to add layers and then take them off again for the pure sake of satiating his sex drive. "You can't just-"

"I most certainly can, dear sir!" Nero enunciated with the best British accent he knew to do. "You need an outsider's opinion."

"And yours would be different how?"

"I'm nit-picky. I will be mean if there's something wrong." That was one trait they appreciated most; that he spoke his mind no matter the circumstance and refused to be swayed by any form of charisma. It didn't work out too well for the Dante who relied on the trait most, losing most of the household battles with his brother joining the ethical side of the debate. Two coherent heads beat one magnetic force any day of the week. "I love you both to bits, but if you don't look as good as you should I'm gonna say the worst things that pop into my tiny brain."

There was no way they would convince him otherwise. "At least now we know what he gets from you."

"We'll do it if you ask nicely."

Nero's eyebrows shot up. "Like… saying please?" It had been such a long time that he'd asked them something that befitted some respectful etiquette. "I paid for them; if I say 'dance, monkey' you better believe you're going to dance."

Wow – logic and money; one ruled the world, the other allowed it. "He has a point."

He did, but it was an objective standpoint; Dante's head snapped to his brother undeniably slow, his eyes leading the chase to what would have been a quick painless passing. "We can just refuse."

The boy glanced at the tags and amazingly picked Dante's suit, cautiously tugging on the zip until most of the whole was revealed. His mouth went dry in the best way possible, looking between the younger twin and the clothes and seeing no tangible obstacle in is way of getting the demon into the suit. "Then I'll dress you myself."

"I'd like to see you try." He floated in front of Nero and the suit, diabolically lifting his arms as a challenge to the kind-hearted slave drooling on the floor. "I won't stop you, and I'm certain you don't have what it takes."

Nero revelled in proving them wrong in the underestimation of his audacity to particular stimuli: everything about Dante's combat gear seemed simple enough with a click here and there, buttons and zips to be undone and poof, the path to victory seemed shorter than he'd imagined. He started at the bottom undoing Vergil's hard work for the second time that day, delicate with every component for fear of his life should something break or tear; next were the mechanisms on the coat, spending a good five minutes searching for the a release protrusion or anything to get the damn things loose, pressing every design option thinking the answer lied right under his nose and he was blinded by his over-complex thinking – the twin couldn't take it anymore, enjoying the idea of being naked the more he stood clothed with the crusts of impatience kicking in; he trailed the length of his covered arm, taking the boys hand and placing his index finger at the centre of the topmost clip, pressing deeply and twisting his wrist followed by the satisfying sound of the round monster falling to two parts that hung loosely at his chest. He conquered the other two, holding the coat by the collar as he slipped it over his overbearing figure, moving too close to remove it from his long arms that he purposely stretched back to shrink the gap between their bodies. Dante's eyes never left him, beguiled with the resilience and care he carried out his self-inflicted punishment with as much an air of grace attainable when stripping someone in your living room. He wanted to smile but couldn't bring himself to break character with the stoned-face twin behind him, enjoying the show thoroughly as a serious matter to scar him for ever crossing Vergil and his strong will; he was unashamed at the naked form, his brother's in particular, and both gave less than half a shit to being exposed in his own home, going as far as to feeling thankful he could have someone rid the fibres for him. Nero took a deep inhale, setting the folded coat on the couch and readying his mind to tackle the two obstacles in his way to half the victory; a button and a fly and the hardest part would be over, stepping forward with his hands suspended over the hurdles before him. He succumbed to the part of his brain that screamed to touch him, roughly angling Dante's body and his actions out of Vergil's view and leisurely running the pads of his fingers from his collarbone to the distended muscle that dipped far into his jeans. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said, keeping his eyes to the top of Nero's head as his hands stopped in the front of his jeans; he'd lost his cool over the past few seconds, coming to his senses that he'd maybe bitten off more than he could chew. He looked up at the demon, dead from the elbow downward who gave him a blank stare in return, massaging some life into the limbs that froze under the strain of obligation. "Like this," said Dante, shifting his hand over Nero's and moving it in position, two twists of three fingers and his button was open, clamping his fingers over the achievement. "And then you go here," he grabbed his other hand and instructed a firm grip on the head of the zipper, "and pull it straight down." The detached digits conformed obediently, pulling it all the way down and directing his line of sight to where his hands were and jumping backward, hearing the rest of his bravado fizz between his ears.

He'd accept defeat with great sportsmanship. "I'm gonna bow out. I have no nerve left."

Vergil licked his lips, speaking in a barely audible deep whisper. "You've never seen him naked before?"

The boy needed to concentrate: puppies, sparkling water, licking batteries, origami, grape juice; anything but the image he branded to his memory for much later in the night. "Why would you assume I have?"

He now stepped forward not entirely ready for the performance to end. "Four years and you're not the least bit curious?"

The younger would add his two cents just because, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder and mirroring the manifestation of every sin in the book on the face to his right, sneaking his hands onto his hips and dragging the black denim dangerously low. The elder hybrid's lips brushed his neck as he spoke, his left hand fidgeting with his silver strands. "He's about to lose, Vergil. Don't egg him on."

Nero nodded profusely. "I'm done. I can't go further." He wouldn't live the loss down, but he couldn't be distracted by something so big. "Come on, please. I just wanna see."

They got him to say it – double win; as is, Dante feebly peeled away from his sibling and recovered his items and the suit, making sure to intentionally bend too low to support his unprotected waist just as his brother would; slinging his attire over his shoulder, he turned on his clean socks and retreated to the base of the staircase that led to his brother's room, glaring over his shoulder to the two dumfounded to the spot. There was no way he wasn't enjoying this. "Was that so hard?"

This was beyond unfair. "I could ask you the same"

The sweetest, cuddliest, gorgeous smile encased every inch of his immoral above-six-foot physique, giving him a good look at the calm before the storm that would shake the very foundations of their abode. "Not even close."

Nero had the best spot to watch the painful journey all the way to the top, opening and closing the big oak door as quietly as possible. "He's joking, right?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Really." Vergil pursed his lips, crossing his eyes as his upper lip crept close to his nose. "You would have been in for a treat."

More than the eyeful he'd been served from head to fucking toe? "How so?"

"He wasn't wearing underwear." The delivery was too nonchalant for his liking; by the end of the day, he anticipated his face to have muscle he didn't know existed. His side of the fight also implied that he strived to get him naked, which… wasn't… the case… There was no way for him to have known, and even repeating the words back to himself sounded less convincing than the conclusion that ended in Dante in his birthday suit for him to feast on. Not… that… he ever would… right? "You want me to show off too?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to do this to himself anymore. "Can I handle it?"

"No." He shouldered his three-piece, hand in pocket, tilt to his stunning head. "Absolutely not, with absolute certainty."

Nero sighed. "I'll take my chances."

The hybrid nodded, treading next to him and knocking him in the arm as he passed by. "Consider yourself warned."

He counted the steps and waited for the door to be closed from the inside, jogging to his room for the smallest slab in his bag and then trekking to the kitchen to complete the three servings of iced coffee he'd set himself on making; crushed ice, cold coffee, vanilla essence, and vanilla ice cream into a blender, blitzing for a good full minute until mixed and a healthy dollop of cream on top sprinkled with chocolate shavings and cocoa powder.

Nero poured the concoction into their adult sippy cups, filling each to the brim with all its trimmings and replacing the lids, pouring the leftover into a small tumbler for him to drink on his way to the huge leather couch to wait for his demise.

What he didn't hear was the pair of footsteps along two different flights, meeting at the lounge at the same time before he left the kitchen, waiting for their critique. The two dark shadows took him off guard, panning upward mid sip.

What they didn't expect was for Nero to shatter the glass in his bare hand – glass, coffee, and blood mixing and falling to the floor.


	4. A whole new level

It shattered in slow motion where the smug looks on their faces fell flat in pure alarm at the volcano of solids and liquids spouting from the frazzled human's clutch: the thick base of the glass held its own against Nero's destructive hand while the walls weren't so lucky, cracking into whole sizeable shards and breaking further upon contact with the tiled floor; there was next to no hope for the coffee in its liquid greatness, gushing through every possible opening under strain of his immense strength and complying to the gravitational field pulling it downward; the uneven edges of the shards grazed the tips of his fingers and the middle of his palm, the underside of his upper lip and visible part of his lower lip sustaining minor gashes that bled way more than they needed to. His head turned to the mess at his feet, watching crimson droplets fall onto the hill of confusion from his face and hand, feeling more broken about his spilled milk than his slow loss of blood. "Who woulda thunkit?"

Shock and mild amusement was all he saw as he looked at them, sucking his bottom lip in their direction. Casual worry overcame Dante as he took a step forward, hands outstretched to help in any way he could. "Are you okay?"

Nero nodded. "The bees knees I'm afraid. Can't say the same for the glass." The boy let the pieces in his hand drop to the wet mound, his hands shaking at the furiousness of his delight that he couldn't face out of embarrassment. He saw the sneaker step closer to him, curling his hand to catch and stop the steady stream of blood pooling in his grasp while attempting to stop the oncoming presence. "Don't come any closer; your suit will be-"

"Fuck the suits; you're bleeding." It wasn't as big of a deal as he made it out to be – with Vergil's healing power that would make quick work of the wound – but more the thought he assumed pieces of clothing would be more important than his literal life force draining from his body.

The English accent was back in full force, hiding his face at bending at his waist. "The excitement was too much it had to burst forth from my veins." He was giggling now, trying to fill the awkward silence that was him bleeding on the floor with a controlled fit of giggles at the worst possible outcome to how the scene was meant to go.

"Nero, this isn't a joke."

"I'm fine. Really." He bent lower to collect the bigger fragments into his bloodied hand, running quickly to retrieve a sheet of newspaper to dispose of the mess and looking over his shoulder to see them obeying his sole order. "Please don't give me that look, Vergil. I'll clean this up."

The mentioned demon paid no attention to the liquid burgundy sludge, moderate annoyance and discomfort spiking his sour face. "That is of no concern to me."

Reaching under the sink, he splayed the double sheet on top of the counter and rolled the awful contents into an odd-shaped ball, dumping it in the black bin they used for tougher refuse; he returned with the mop and a bucket with his hand wrapped in a scrap of kitchen towel, making quick work of the spill and the smaller portions of glass along with it. "I can't have nice things, can I?"

It was aimed as a painful jolt of humour as he winced at the pressure on his hand, steering the metal pole in and around the now clean tiles. "Nero-"

"I'm good," he said, flexing his fingers as he rinsed the bloated green sponge into the soapy water. "Keep standing there." He retreated to the kitchen and washed his hands, moving once again behind the big oak door leading to the garage and cellar.

Nero was too proud and self-reliant for them to do anything else but wait, hearing the noises in the concrete room that implied his raiding of the small emergency first-aid kit fashioned for car or bike related injuries; the twins stood like mannequins in a shop window, feeling silly and helpless at their rejection – they should have known it would happen given the chain of events that led to the explosion, half concerned and half in awe of his sensitive reaction. It confirmed he was getting stronger; it was also a defining moment that would perchance modify the very air they all breathed. They looked straight ahead at the door that separated them from the boy, listening intently to his movements and efforts as he took care of the nuisance of a wound; avoiding one another's eyes like the plague, thinking the same thing, riding the same wavelength of thought – their little boy was growing up. Dante spoke to prod the pliable mood of the room, hiding his eyes behind his long fringe. "It's funny."

Vergil didn't see it. "How in earth, Heaven or Hell's name is Nero bleeding funny?"

"You can't tell me, in your eccentric virile glory, that you don't feel flattered that you look so good you've reduced someone you admire to such a crumbling mess he can't control his own strength."

It was one way to look at it. "That's supposed to be a good thing?"

Dante tried to unsuccessfully focus on anything but the vanta black physique on his right. "Isn't it?"

Vergil turned to face him. "You'd get a handjob from him after that?"

And he just made it worse. "I hadn't thought of that."

Of course he didn't; his brain seldom ventured that possibility. "Leave the logical thinking to me, okay?"

There weren't enough middle fingers to explain how he felt. "You have got to be kidding me."

"The previous statement proves it."

"The only thing that sentence proves is that your cognitive senses are led by your genitalia."

That much was obvious. "That's supposed to be a bad thing?"

Dante couldn't believe the words coming out of his supposed mouth; it was his fault, truth be told, but the control factor should be in effect seeing as Nero was in their presence. They made sure to switch it off when he appeared, fanning away the sparks in the other direction to not cause an abrupt stir to their already short-circuiting mindset in additionally trying to hide their clandestine covet that they both don't know Nero knows about. "All I'm saying is that you should see the good in the accidental partial shredding of his hand."

"Dante's right." The twins rotated instantly to the husky voice, see the human as he once was with a tightly wrapped bandage around his hand. His colour was back and he looked much better, the visage of vitality leaving as a shaky breath from his taut mouth as he continued to stare at the forms that had granted his wish. "You two look so gorgeous." He wanted to say awesomeoutstandingmagnificentsuperbeliciousophenomenomazing, but saying it calmly wouldn't have fit in the situation; his eyes were left watering after a quick scope of the two predators, wiping the haze with his injured hand and battered bandage. "I say that with love and reverence; nothing to do with my libido being left in shambles by my developing hormones."

The two masses of muscle, six feet four a piece, were practically glowing in their attire, unsure of how to configure their limbs for Nero get the closer look he wanted: Dante was in a classic shadow charcoal three-piece, fitted in all the right areas for a snug fit to accentuate his outstanding features; the soft material pulled taut on his broad shoulders, peaking along his strong silhouette from them to his slim waist, complimented by the two blazer buttons that held everything together perfectly; the piping at the collar and chest was a strip of lighter material embroided with a double line of stitching for added texture. Nero could glance a peep of his casual waistcoat just above the top button, connecting down the middle over the white shirt he preferred, a grey silk skinny trinity knot breaking the blinking canvas in two tucked neatly under the fibres of the emphasised cloth. Two extra buttons nestled on the underside of each sleeve for him to play with and lose should he ever become fidgety enough to rip them off. The paired trousers looked sufficiently comfortable to eat from where he stood, highlighting his long muscular legs and just two or so inches off the floor, allowing for the signature black stripe on white soles of his sneakers to proudly show. Nero twirled a single finger in the air at him, getting a really good yet deflated spin from the colossal virility on display. "Before you say anything on the colour, she convinced me that this would look better."

The human didn't think he'd have to come clean so quickly. "I placed the order like that. I didn't want you in black."

He couldn't be insulted. Nero knew both of them too well for any piece of detail to go untouched, and the elder twin felt a tiny, tingling spurt of warmth fizz next to his stomach acid. Again, disgusting, but he had to know. "Why not? Black is a good colour."

"For your brother, hence he's in black and you're in… light black." Identical suits wouldn't do, imagining the streams of blood and bruises he'd have to clean after laundry day if anything were to go missing from their heavenly wardrobes. There was one simple trick: if Vergil's blazer was too tight, it was Dante's. There was a third of an inch difference in their span, and Vergil made sure to make the fact known as the situation saw fit and as often as allowed on a daily basis.

He was the expert after all. "There's no such thing."

"It became a thing when I asked. If you don't already know, Lynette knows what she's doing. I can say five words to her and she knows what I want." Nero unbuttoned Dante's blazer and released the shy cloth to the open air, delicately feeling his way across it with an inviting grin scruffily plastered on his gorgeous face; the flawless excuse to mindlessly roam the chiselled chest would go unnoticed, having to drag his effort back to the original story of having a feel of the fabric. "Like a caveman."

Dante let him, the elder's brain too advanced not to realise he was being felt up. "What did you say to her?"

Nero detached himself and held out his hand, spreading it and counting along. He softly pointed to the first. "Make." Second. "Them." Third. "Look." His pinkie. "Sexy." He stuck out his thumb to the side, artlessly biting the corner of his mouth and his cheeks puffed full of playful intrigue. "The 'as fuck' doesn't count, so it's actually four." The boy went back into position for one more touch expressly looking Dante in his baby blues with naïve wonder as his digits grazed the cotton. "It's so soft."

His voice was every obscured shade of milk and honey, stepping toward closely inspecting his second victim. "He takes offense to that."

"I meant the clothes." He rolled his eyes in full view of Dante, whipping his head the other way and winking at Vergil; the younger returned in kind, sticking his tongue in his cheek and hands in his pockets as the boy stood in front of him, parched and starved with two courses standing cockily in the aura created by him. "Now, let's take a look here."

Vergil was draped a stand collar, the soft material a stark contrast to his pale skin for the purpose of showing off his long, strong neck; a single gloss-finished button sat three quarters of the way down of the curved torso, opening to an old-fashioned waistcoat with a diagonally set square pins stretching across the lower part of his abdomen; his plain black shirt came with a darker tie in an Eldredge knot with bits of off-white to break the gloom of the dark overload, honing three buttons along the sleeve instead of two, and his trousers tailored slightly tighter at the thigh for more breathing space in the front. He too paired it with his favourite pair of sneakers, all black and not as out there as his ideal. Nero did the same with him, single-handedly working his way down every stitch of the complex needlework that went into the final product. "May I hug you?"

Two things: one, he was already at the halfway mark; two, it didn't need an answer. "Why are you asking?"

"I want permission to touch you inappropriately."

Vergil gently pulled the wounded hand off his blazer, holding it carefully in his palm; he looked at it and Nero looked at him, an entire cluster of hair joining the two tufts at the front as he began to unravel the pristine handiwork of the ambidextrous mush who was fascinated and shuddering at what he was doing. The hybrid peeked through the luscious silver curtain with a weak but heart-wrenching smile, looking the epitome of his brother at any angle the boy looked. "Can I please heal this for you first?"

He was unknowingly holding his breath, exhaling deeply to keep his body in check. "I completely forgot you can do that."

"You've never truly hurt yourself in front of me." Seventeen seconds at most, Vergil covered the scars with his right hand and focused on healing the tiny cuts on the plump skin; the icy cold sensation laced along the edges of each opening, slowly pulling the skin together and heating upon contact, like a scorching thread piercing skin across the span of broken flesh; it burned like hell as more blood seeped through, floating as a whole over each puncture as it sunk back into his bloodstream and revealed his skin to be good as new with not so much as a trace of a battle scar. "There," he said, raspy and delicious, turning it over and placing a small kiss to the back of his hand. "All better." They held onto one another, enjoying what felt like molten pop rocks bursting between their small cuddle; he looked to his older brother and received a deep nod, moving closer to Nero and raking his fingers through the adolescent white locks. "It's sweet that you think this is bad. Wait until you see our matching glasses."

His left hand snaked coyly around the twin's waist who shuffled closer in return, comprehending the statement a second too late. "Glasses?"

Dante looked to the boy and he shook his head. "Don't worry; there are no glasses."

Vergil was nearly amused at the degree of relaxation that shook Nero's entire frame. "That's fantastic. You get those, my life is over."

Over? "Why do you say that?" The twin let his head droop to stare at the top of his head while nuzzling closer to him, wrapping the arm that previously held his hand to rest at the small of his back and keeping the other entangled in his hair. "You can't handle us in glasses?"

"I'm so dead certain I definitely can't." Nero tilted his head for those wondrous beady eyes, laying his chin on one of Vergil's buttons being utterly endearing. "I'd like to think I know my limits quite well and I would hate to test them out on you two."

It wasn't a secret that given the opportunity he'd take complete sexual advantage over the twins, regardless of hierarchy, circumstance, or standpoint, and neither was the fact that they would let him; it was a fickle line to cross but one they'd do in a heartbeat should it be called forth, snapping the final string of their boundaried relationship into tiny chunks and watch it disintegrate on the thin layer of sweat of their aching physiques. In truth, the twins had agreed that Nero make the first move, using one another as the default punching bag for their myriad of proverbial frustrations; as far as Dante knew he kept himself cooped in his room on week nights and weekends, working twice as hard as he should and not having enough time to be the ruthless teenager as they had hoped, but what they'd managed to accomplish in raising him to be had far surpassed their expectations given the state of his arrival. Dante couldn't hold the smile back, ever grateful his brother was the only one seeing it distort his usual unmoving face. He began massaging the boy's head like the proud guardian he was – never had it occurred to him to call himself his father even as it were legally so – and Nero could feel himself sinking into the new fabric, ever so careful to not get a drool stain on the pitch black canvas. "Does it feel any better?"

He had completely forgotten his hand was singeing a few moments ago. "It didn't hurt at all, but I guess now I can make you eat your niceness by bonking you with it."

Dante had to burst his frenzied bubble, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation at his unreasoned conclusion that the ability to crush glass was all it took to defeat two devil-incarnates straight from the fires of Hell. He'd just jumped off the cliffs of sanity and pulling him back up may take another damning four years. "Look, we're all for positive reinforcement, but don't get delusional. You're strong, you've proved that, but strength alone doesn't mean you have the win in the bag."

He was too focused on Vergil's soothing heartbeat for anything else to soak into his skull. "What do I need then?"

"Our weak spots."

The organ at his ear rose in pace. "You have those?"

"Everybody has one; life would be unfair if we didn't. Find them, and we're at your mercy." The elder turned to the clock, waging a good enough timeframe to silence his ego and establish their supremacy – more like his own – over the human. Never claim a premature victory if Vergil was your opponent for the sake of worldly balance. "We start in half an hour; is that okay?"

That was all he needed to psych himself into the correct mindset. "Can I play one more round for good luck?"

"You can do whatever you want. We'll be warming up downstairs." Nero nodded into Vergil's chest, lazily stripping from the warm homing beacon to tread the few feet to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Mock disapproval was everywhere on his black everything. "Vergil?"

Dante turned on his heel. "Yeah?"

"You said to not make a habit out of lying to him."

His grey shoulders shrugged. "Sure…"

Oh, he was a cruel, cruel man. "We don't have weak spots."

"We don't. I said everybody has one – I didn't confirm we were part of that group, nor did I implicate life was fair, which would have directly influenced the deduction of us having any." A firm grasp met his padded shoulder, shifting his attention to his twin other than trying to compute the string of big words that came from his own mouth. "It'll be fun seeing him try to find it out the hard way."

It was pointless to think he'd play fair after having his strength put on a lower pedestal by a puny lesser being; Vergil's words, not his own. "You're mean."

"And you're a good judge of character." The hand on his shoulder drifted quietly along his arm, feeling its way down the protruding veins where he stopped at his wrist, sneaking his fingers amid the gaps in his hand and holding tightly. "For what it's worth, you look kinda yummy."

It soothed his mind to know that his libido was able to overrun Vergil's mammoth vocabulary. "So do you."

The younger only now remembered to push his hair back, fluffing the strands so they'd stay in place. "I want to strip you gently and have my way with you on the bench press."

Of all the places they had done it in the gym, that was the most comfortable. "You've downgraded from the treadmill I see."

"We shouldn't have tried that in the first place. I couldn't walk for a whole day."

The living part of Dante was beginning to shine through, making the instigator step forward in claiming accountability for temporarily paralysing his older brother. "You needed to be taught a lesson."

"You didn't have to transform in the middle of it."

"He wanted to make an appearance to take credit for his handiwork."

Dante's hand moved on its own, circling the base of Vergil's neck as he kissed his cheek. "He decides to do that again, he'll get an audience of one-"

"You make it sound like a threat." He returned the favour at the corner of his brother's mouth, sucking and nibbling on his lower lip. "He can take you; I hope you know th-"

"OH SHUT UP, YOU'LL NEVER BE THE MAN YOUR MOTHER WAS!"

Nero yelled at the top of his lungs, guessing that he chose to wear his headphones for the unbeaten segment; they both jumped a substantial height into the air as their hearts clawed out of their ribcages and into their stomachs and a good amount of relief washing over their suddenly-pale faces when the screeching came to an end – Dante clutched at his chest to level his breathing while Vergil folded himself over, unable to contain his laughter at having his throat fall out of his ass.

The elder marched with heavy feet up the stairs to Dante's room exasperated by the jolt that alerted his systematic blood flow into overdrive, making the vital mistake in looking back and seeing his younger twin lean onto the front door holding his tummy in ache, scrunching his entire face to not laugh as loud as he was demonically capable. It was a plan with no guarantee of working, running to the couch to grab the plastic coating of his suit and teleporting to his brother's room. The wisp of blue air made Dante smile, remembering only one other time he'd laughed to his heart's content, not coming remotely close to the entry level of elation he had experienced; he chuckled as he opened his room door, hearing Dante plead with his mind to take deep breaths from across the house and feeling a significant burn to his cheeks as he replayed the imagined motion in his head. "I swear I'm going to kill him."

* * *

Vergil's blue Sippy cup sat alone on the kitchen counter, thinking about how hard it must have been for his brother to bend all familiarity and go for the red one and leaving his preferred bitter version of Nero's concoction to be drunk by the twin who relished in the natural and artificial sweetness of every food that was adjusted to his liking. He took a taste, scowling that it didn't hit his palate as unpleasantly as he had initially imagined, only to come to the conclusion that yes, indeed, he couldn't wait for the day to end and everything went back to it's mangled, normal setting. He toyed with the zipper on his training hoodie as he walked to the door hiding the tiny staircase to their gym seventeen steps beneath the foundations of their home, needlessly knocking on the door before entering the large space.

Dante stood across the room behind Nero at a punching bag in the corner with their backs toward the door, hitting the sand-filled black vinyl and sending it flying in different directions as guided by the hybrid; after each successful swing, the signature fingerless gloves found their way onto the boy's hips, readjusting to various stances to shift his centre of gravity and deliver mind-numbing and powerful attacks strong enough to jingle the limbic system of his foe with a blinking light over the choice of 'flight' and to keep on running until he felt good about himself. The older twin took pride in Nero's movement, explaining in depth the muscles at work and the optimisation of the strength in each segment of his limbs to create the perfect, sculpted chaos that drove fully grown men to run with their bushy tails between their shaking legs, his face stamped in their brains and a background growing red light to accompany his presence and approachability. The solid pats to the human's back brought broader smiles to his face, refocusing his efforts even more to please the sharp set of eyes watching and moulding his every skillset until it rivalled the twins themselves.

Vergil closed the door quietly and monitored the personal training instruction, moving quietly to a corner and sipping at his drink as he watched their mutual tactics be taught to the over enthusiastic beast that was well on his way to becoming the one thing that could possibly beat them both to a pulp; the white gauze on his hands cracked under the pressure of his growing mastery over his embodied power, becoming more focussed at the notion of fighting as a whole and not a means to an end in every decipherable situation. The muscles in his back bulged with purpose and innocent intent to scare and not get blood on his hands, stemming from the deep trenches of his lower back and rippling through along his lengthy spine to their desired outlets of steel, pushing his shoulders forward in punches that left second-lasting dents in the thick plastic; his energy burned out of his pores and ran down his body already glistening in sweat, practiced breaths escaping his lips to cool down from the surge of energy to please the unresponsive face hiding behind the equipment. Nero clung to the bulk, peeking from behind seeing Dante bite the drawstrings of his sleeveless hoodie. "For someone who didn't want to take part in the first place, you sure are setting yourselves up for disaster."

The hybrid walked past the white-haired koala and onto the soft part of the floor, gesturing for the boy to join him. Hand to hand combat was more his brother's forte, but what was there to lose in giving it another try? "I wanted to help give you a good warm up." His bare feet looked awfully toasty on the spongy black floor, curling in with his hands in his pockets rocking back and forth on the spot. "I'm the nice brother, remember?"

Discounting the truth of the fact, it didn't make him any less lethal in a space designed to have as much bone-crunching fun with little to no consequence; Nero would be first to admit the outright fear of both their tempers when in the right state of mind to kill or be killed, made significantly milder for their daily mock fights with the right amount of intent behind each move, trying to heighten his sense of alertness and unpredictability toward his opponent, hitting the right spots in no time with less effort and honing control faster than any idiot could say Worcestershire. "I know what you're capable of."

He followed in Dante's footsteps, taking off his socks and sneakers and standing opposite the demon, tightening the threads around his hands and forearms, flexing his fingers to encourage the blood circulation back into the fleshy gauntlets; an overbearing shadow came into view, tucking a stray piece of the material back in its place before moving to his original spot playing with the zipper on his fluffy top, just like his brother. "You should. I'm pretty dangerous." He put up his fake claws and best bear fangs on harmless display. "Grrrrr!" Nero should have known the cuteness was a distraction, disappearing into his blind spot and leaving a few crumbs of his red spirit behind as a huge hand flashed across his vision and affixed itself to the far side of his jaw, spinning him on the spot until he faced the left wall, a strong knee in his spine sending a strange jolt of prickling static stars straight to his brain and launching the bottom half of his body onto his knees, the grasp pulling him to the floor while his windpipe was crushed the more he resisted; the boasting twin just had to flaunt the premature win, leaning over Nero and learning his purposeful mistake first-hand, a duo of strong legs enclosing on his neck, twisting with all his might as he squeezed to flip the twin on his back and using the flowing momentum to turn the demon on his stomach with his arms pinned behind him.

Nero put his full weight on his back with his legs on either side, trying to make himself heavier for the sake of making life a tad more difficult for his caregiver. "That's no reason to underestimate me."

"When have I ever done that?" His body hiccupped into the air with a move so small it shouldn't have constituted the face glaring underneath his weight, fake injustice plastered to the tips of his fingers that were casually dangling between his teeth. The placid face showed no flinch to his body or the push from behind: his body lurched forward hair first at the soft nudge to his shoulder blades, propelling him into a forward roll to safe his face and dignity from the worst scar imaginable; Dante followed the momentum and pushed himself onto his haunches, using the rest of it to shove into the other's back and make him topple forward, palms flat on the floor in favour of launching his Rainbow Kick straight into the hybrid's head. Again. But also, not really. The premature sneer on his face at the thought of his win was suspended mid-air just like his body as a strong grip grew tighter around his ankle. "Please keep in mind who you're facing," he said, choosing not to face him but to rather haul his one hundred and eighty nine pound frame across the space, twisting in the process of sliding him to the opposite end of the mat on his back with enough force for his sweaty back to painfully slide into his line of sight. Nero's left leg tingled uncomfortably from his toes through his knee and jolting him in his hip, the sting pinning him at Dante's mercy. "There is a fine line between passion and arrogance; do your best to stay on the edge of that line at all times." He wasn't impressed; the hard hit to the ground at both his eardrums fuelled the indignation he was meant to illustrate at the start of their scuffle, grabbing hold at the neck of his hoodie and strangling the fabric to rid the ashes of his composed temper. "Now get up and beat my ass or be humiliated a second time."

He couldn't believe the words left his mouth, standing to his full height and stretching a hand to help the boy up with the assumed bothersome pain in his leg; there was method to his madness, and the lesson to be taught today was to not try out experimental injury when your hands were clammy and couldn't find any other way to block what would have been a devastating blow to the head, even by Vergil's standards. He would never admit it, but that damn kick had a reputation in Hell and he had yet to face it full-on, but today was not that day. Nero stood and shook the unnerving twitch out of his leg, clinging too firmly to his helping aid. "I can't beat you-"

"Try." The hybrid was able to peel away, taking three steps back with his hands on his hips. "Don't overestimate your opponent before the fight has begun."

"Even if I know what they're capable of?"

"It's an illusion of grandeur." Nero saw it coming from a mile away, crossing his arms in front of his face as the room held its breath in anticipation for a crack of bones that were meant to follow the ferocious punch. "These things show you what they want you to see; it's your job to look through the mighty façade and give them a beating they won't expect." The calm in voice was genuine, direly contrasting him clawing at the skin of his forearms as he twisted them inward; Nero could do nothing but fall forward to alleviate the strain, eyeing the bend to the twin's knee while it got closer to his face. "Demons won't smell potential on you, so they'll know you're human – underestimate you, make fun of you, poke you in the wrong way – they want to aggravate you into not thinking straight. When a bull sees red, it's over, they've won." It came but only just, the boy pushing his head back and missing his jaw by a hair's width, launching the back of his head into the twin's neck and making him recoil backward; the human drove two hits into his stomach and one in his chest, aimed solely at tiring his intake of breath as he staggered backward, planting his feet into the soft ground for the next predictable attack to peak its undeniable head. Nero went for his ribcage with all his weight behind him, disheartened when his shoulder burdened most of the strike, standing dead still when it proved insufficient to knock him down. "But being bested by a human…" Nero could feel the smile on his face as a strong hand ironed his tousled mop, pushing it into the knee that he had missed earlier, "…its worth to a demon's pride is underrated; the fabric of their substance falls away because they failed at the task they were solely created for." With half of his nasal cavity crushed, his grip around Dante's waist flew to support his bleeding nose, falling flat onto his butt and curling in a foetal position, rolling side to side at the extraordinary discomfort that came with his face being broken into what felt like thousands of pieces. "What's left to deserve other than death? It's different with your kind."

He rolled on his side and spat into his hand, getting into a lotus pose and staring at the globules of blood falling through the small gaps of his fingers. "My kind? You're half my kind." He was surprised he could speak with the roof of his mouth in two, answering in a feint whisper that drowned in the puddle of blood in his mouth.

"With an unfair advantage." Dante moved to his side and gently laid their foreheads together forgetting he was Dante, and no form of treatments could proceed until the one honing his power got there; Nero couldn't care less at the pain, enjoying the big hand cradling his head like a new-born baby. "Winning the fight in your mind convincing yourself that you'll come out breathing is a third of the way to victory, Nero. It starts with believing in yourself and the purpose you're fulfilling by defeating the seven foot three hundred pound beast that's dimmer than an energy-saving light bulb during peak hours."

The human winced while trying to laugh, moaning as his head lolled over his chest. "Let's cross our fingers none of them ever kick me in the face."

"Then you're in for a ride, because Vergil has legs of steel; there other tactics you can use to take him down though." One of his best traits was that he never went down without giving his all, never giving up until there was factually nothing else he could give; his face was bloodied and broken but that sentiment rang untrue for the rest of his frame, most of it untouched in injury and fresh in resolve and credence to prove himself worthy to join their demon hunting party of two. He helped Nero to his feet, moving closer to get a proper look at his handiwork when a closed fist tore the air at his right temple, a second directly on his cheekbone and a kick to his thigh to gain some distance between them. Had he given the thought one step further to the possibility of it doing absolutely nothing to the demon, he may have had a plan for the weird silence that fell at his attacks being successfully absorbed by his flesh. Dante chose to do nothing, surging forward and missing the third punch by the skin of his teeth, gruesomely digging four knuckles into Nero sternum and stunning him for a good three seconds; he buckled onto his knees at having the air knocked out of his lungs by an attack he didn't see, wrenched back to disallow a steady breath to enter his body normally. The arms around his waist held him close to the twin's chest, calming him with encouraging words in his ear that soothed his aching lungs before spinning him to the only door in the room, telling him to open his eyes. Vergil took up the entire doorway, biting on his invincible plastic straw hiding a look of demure fascination at the moving sculptures set on the mat; he heard every word, every feeling enunciated between the lines of their brief exchange, every emotion evoked on the same frequency of their silver lining; he spoke as Vergil and not Dante, saying things that shouldn't have left the thick and muddy confines of his skull. He threw it to the back of his head for now, walking brashly toward the pair and bending slightly to offer Nero a sip as a distraction to his other hand covering his eyes, healing the pulverised bone under the intact skin. "That's a bit harsh, Dante."

He obliged, opening his mouth with a tiny smirk to let the straw in; Dante ceased the grip around him, stepping flush on the drinking man and resting his cheek on the shoulder in front of him. "You broke my neck last week."

"You deserved it; you ate my brunch after I called dibs." They were having too much fun giving themselves explanations for their own actions, the oblivious man between them drinking happily. The older brother surrendered his win and moved to a more comfortable perch, crossing his legs in deep thought after claiming a bottle of water from the small portable fridge in the corner next to the punching bag.

He hadn't realised what a thirst he had worked up in the forty five minutes he'd spent with Dante, virtually drinking the last half of his iced coffee with a cute finger under his chin. "You two call dibs?" His voice was back; he could breathe through his nose; he moved his face in a million directions and it seemed to be good as new.

"Of course! What kind of order would this house be in if we didn't?" He booped Nero on the nose with the same finger, finished the last of his custom beverage as he set his cup down, teleporting to his brother and pulling the zipper all the way to the bottom. "Speaking of which, I'm up first for my…" The hands on Vergil's hips were a dead giveaway, turning to the boy with an exposed pale torso made from an amalgamation of teenage girls' dreams. "What did he call it?"

Dante licked his lips as the question was directed to him, further licking the tip of his finger and setting it above him to gage the direction of a non-existent wind. "An ass-whooping."

Vergil pulled it off and handed it to his elder sibling who folded it and set it on the cushioned floor. "If this is just another one of your empty promises, I will not be impressed." Each step closer to him had an uncomfortable weight, attempting to lessen the impending doom by rolling the cuffs on his invisible shirt, chewing on nothing and squaring that irrevocable jaw of his as he came face to face with his unmoving opponent giving him a stare down of the century. "Come – too late to be shy now."

His mouth was slowly becoming dry once more; being that close to someone of his stature carried the risk of several fried brain cells, including all inhibition and control over any short circuits going haywire owing to an unwelcome sweat in his brain; they stared at one another for a couple of seconds, waiting for the first move to be made – Vergil narrowed his eyes, cocked his eyebrow and crunched his teeth, falling flat in his intimidation technique and instead looking like an adorable puppy who was proud to miss his dentist appointment. The boy knew better than to take his eyes off the flaming ball of powerful cotton, flapping his hand behind him to get Dante's attention without harming the trajectory of smut he was telepathically aiming at the demon. "What are the rules for this one?"

"Same as always: your back hits the floor, your opponent gets a point." His tongue was in his cheek. "Anything goes."

He was looking forward to the parallel. "But Vergil plays dirty."

"That I do. Suck it up." The younger lifted his hand and got a bottle thrown at him, taking a big gulp and tossing it back; his watery puffed face was such a tease, making the mistake of trailing the journey of the liquid from the outside: slowly down his neck, pint by pint, watching the muscles adjust to the actions; his heaving chest as he breathed right after, caving inward at the exhale and pulling taut the skin at his abdomen; his hips swayed with an impatient bare foot tapping the mat, personifying both twins at the same time. "How about this: I will get one point for every three times I get you on the floor."

It sounded like a plan. "Fair enough."

Dante shifted his position. "Far from it. It would be fair if it was ten to one."

Ten? "How long do you plan this to go on?"

The elder laced his fingers at his ankle ready to spew facts – finally, territory he was used to. "You don't understand how Vergil works; the lower the stakes in his favour, the quicker he'd end your suffering. He's going to toy with you now." Sneaking some advice through telling Nero what he was in for? The younger nodded in thankfulness.

The twin's eyes were changing and he didn't like it. "It ends when one of us gets to three, correct? He needs to get me on the floor nine times-"

"Ten…" said Dante, cracking his neck, biting his lip. "Just to rub it in." That was more his brother's style of doing things.

Now he really had to turn his head. "So he can be cocky and I can't?"

"You're asking that knowing you're talking about Vergil?"

The hair on his neck stood straight up. "I was making sure-"

"Being cute won't get you out of this, Nero." His hunch was right, the warm breath on his collarbone sending alert signals to the parts of his brain that was working. "You can have first blood." Generally speaking, Vergil – a man who refused to be caught off guard by any disadvantage whatsoever, nor did he allow such an advantage to ever occur – gave the rights of the first punch to Nero who acted correctly in being sceptical about the whole ordeal; he provoked the boy by sticking his hands in his pockets and bending forward to 'make it easier for his hand to connect' and pouting his lips as if prepping for a fervent smooch. There was nothing to lose, using his weaker arm to deliver the blow that certainly wouldn't get him on the floor the way he needed, but the demon was too fast to see anything like that happening in the near future: a miniscule tilt to the head was enough to dodge it, encasing Nero's entire face in the palm of his hand and suffocating the strike for what it was worth, generating a force field of thin compressed air to the back of his head as he shoved him onto the mat, his body bouncing on the ground at the sheer force of his power. The pouch dispelled upon contact, leaving his skull unharmed while the shock vibrated through the remainder of his nervous system. "I'm sorry; instincts kicked in. I promise I won't move a muscle this time." One point to him.

Why was he using Dante's moves on him, and why did it hurt more than it usually did? The human picked himself up, trying not to breathe too deep. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"As if." His kin's incessant need to have an early advantage rang true to his basic skeletal structure, reverberating in all his joints in sparks of electric excitement. He was so sure of his success that he was two feet in his first mistake. "Be quick about it; I'd like to nip this in the bud as fast as I c-" He turned: the punch came; it shocked them both. In the corner of his eye he could see Dante's eyes turn to saucers in their tiny sockets, wincing at the clearly audible snapping sound coming from his own mouth; a balled fist closed off his gaping mouth, flipping his field of vision from Nero to his brother and back again, standing triumphantly scared at the head that had twisted upon impact, his two feet rooted in place while his upper body mangled with the force of the blow and a single hand hovering over the demon's lips.

"That's the first time I've ever heard your mouth make a pleasant noise."

True Dante swivelled back, dabbing his palm against his chin and up, wiping the length of his finger on his lip and leaving a thin line of blood behind; his tongue hit the same spot, sucking at and swallowing the coppery aftermath of his decisive blow. "I'm bleeding," he said, not recalling a moment in the last hundreds of years he'd been caught off guard that badly. Vergil looked at his hand like a foreign entity completely separated from his body, rubbing his thumb along the crimson streak as confirmation; the hybrid on the other end took a big sniff at his intoxicating aroma, a little more excited for his turn at getting Dante to sweat through each of his pores in making his life as difficult as it could get. "I'm actually bleeding."

Yes, because repeating it a second time somehow made the situation more condemning than before; it helped none that his voice dropped one decibel into the first circle of Hell, dipping the edges in some hot, melting indecision and whetting the steel of his words to hack deeper into Nero's psyche in thinking of the most unique way to illustrate a physical form of regret. Dante wasn't making it any better with one half of his face knotted in a handsome grin, soaking in as much as he could. "It sounded like two gorillas grinding up against each other with a bunch of rocks between their butt cheeks."

A mix of Dante's sass and Vergil's knack for words was a deadly combo. "I commend the description and your sound mental health-"

"I'm offended I don't have your full attention." He took one last swipe at his cheek, licking the last of his rapidly closing wound and lurching forward, the upper half of his body spasming playfully as the frightened human shook all the way onto his butt, pressed down by the sparks of blue residue fizzing at his hips. "Don't tell me you're scared, Nero. Of all the times to pick, you choose now?"

The boy wiggled comfortably under his squishy thighs. "I'd tell you to fuck off, but I kinda really like this new approach." His hands made it around his perky posterior to his hips, shifting him to a more comfortable, more versatile spot. "This is more up my alley."

He gagged on his own saliva forgetting the third creature standing at the scoreboard with a thick black marker dragging a small line under his foe's name. "Vergil: TWO THIRDS. Nero: ZERO."

Before he could ask, yes, this was exactly how it was going to go. The younger struggled to stifle a giggle, climbing off the human and presenting an olive branch in the form of his strong arm, helping him to his feet. The hybrid kept close to him, evading a cluster of blows identical to the one that cracked his jaw; he moved in conjunction with the dancing human, safeguarding a narrow gap between them, making his punches easier to read and dodge. A stroke of good luck flashed in Nero's face as Vergil lost sight of his pattern, connecting to his collarbone that made him stagger backward, healing in two blinks of an eye and long enough for a mass to cast a shadow overhead, jumping into the air for a devastating point to his name; what he somehow didn't foresee was the abrupt halt to his gravitational feat by means of a hand clutching him at his neck, swinging his legs around the demon's waist straining to breathe at a counter measure that should have broken his neck in several places before being pile-driven into the floor – with no protection this time – both of their bodies performing an extreme ricochet while struggling to their feet to walk off the knocks they had taken; Nero's spine and Vergil's tailbone. "Vergil: ONE. Nero: ZERO." Their pair clicked themselves back into place and went for an entirely different approach; Nero planted his feet firmly on the mat to block a myriad of raining, destructive hits from the twin and impeding each of their fatal consequence one at a time, utilising those absurdly strong legs to kick in the same focal point in the opposing direction to neutralise any and all of his unfair violence. The gods were on his side once again as Vergil missed a crucial swing of his right hook, grazing his knuckles on fresh nothingness and watching Nero pass the length of his arm to his back with unlimited access to indispensable conduits of victory: he'd keep it simple with a flat foot to the back of his knees and a powerful grip at his chin, yanking him backward with the tips of his hair sweeping his ankles. The only way out of the lock was to find a way to twist his body one hundred and eighty degrees where Nero would then push down and easily gain a point and put him in the lead. Not on his watch; knowing he was going to lose, he bent down even further and grabbed the boy by his ribs, flipping him like a ragdoll over his recovering muscles and planting him flat on his back with the added feature of a soft landing. "Vergil: ONE AND A THIRD. Nero: ZERO."

He should have heeded the warning at the beginning and not trusted the twin to fight fair. "I don't want this to be a cake walk."

If this was the game he was going to play, then so be it. "Well it sure as hell is going to be, so buckle up, asshole."

It came from nowhere. "What did I do now?"

Dante replaced the cap on the marker. "He doesn't like being thrown, brother. You of all people should know that." The younger sibling hated the exploit too, but only when done to him; as a result of that vital piece of data coming to light, Vergil did his utmost to throw his twin as far as the eye could see, hitting trees, rocks, structures, and everything else when they trained in the open, keeping him suspended with his Summon Swords on the days he chose to be extra sassy with his big mouth. His ultimate favourite were the landings over the fire anthills; hearing those buggers bite him in his unmentionable parts was Mozart on a rainy day. He stuck his tongue out mid-daydream, reliving some of the moments he'd caused amazing agony to his poor twin.

His voice reverted back to its menacing whisper. "It's not my fault he weighs as much as a twig. He's sour because he's losing."

"Of course, you cross-eyed inbred muckspout! Why else would I be pissed?" Nero took a deep breath and resumed his stance, setting his form firmly in position to await the inevitable strike from his enemy; Vergil put his full weight behind the punch that was plainly dodged, having his arm twisted as the boy snuck underneath with a levelled jab to the ribs and a brutal kick to his elbow, swinging him into a strong fist suspended in mid-air; he tried again with the other arm, with another block and a stronger double hit to his abdomen; the hybrid stumbled back, launching forward into a flying kick that connected at the hip, sending the human into a flurried stagger where three more hits got him in his ribs and his shoulder, switching places with his left leg that took care of his defenceless stomach; Nero hit his back against the wall and toppled forward onto his knees, standing up quickly with no Vergil in his line of sight with only one place he could be, confirmed by the grisly chokehold around his neck. He struck wherever his elbows allowed, hitting pieces of both flesh and bone until the grip loosened, spinning and running up the wall to gain an advantage that he had no clue would be dissolved by a foot into his intestines; he went for a higher attempt, but Nero thought quickly to grab hold of his limb and trip the stabilised one underneath, throwing him onto the mat. That same leg weaselled out of his grasp and around his hip, pulling him on top and altering their positions with a rain of fists to his chest – almost successfully hindered – when one finally connected at the centre of Nero's ribcage, rolling out of position to catch the breath that left his body. He would give the demon no time for a premature celebration, tackling him stiff before moving around him and clasping his fingers, lifting him off the floor and throwing him backward, making the error of standing quickly and taking his eyes off the pained giant rocking on the ground. Neither of them bothered to look to the scoreboard and Dante left them to their vices at pummelling the living daylights out of one another, getting rid of bottled frustrations with the best make of training equipment on the market; he was ever so tempted to announce that it was a tie, both in need of one point more to claim victory for the day, but he also wondered whether they were keeping track of their progress, so absorbed in the means of defeat and not the win itself. The elder twin was saddened at the good fight Nero gave his brother, all for nothing as he took a split second to teleport in front of the boy and hit him in a known sore spot at the base of his neck, watching his eyes empty the adrenaline and triumph as a sole digit to the forehead pushed the lifeless human flat on his back, giving Vergil the last third point to nab his conquest.

"That was such an anti-climax." He drew the last line under his own name; 3-2 wasn't a bad score.

Vergil bent down at Nero's squishy feet. "I know Vergil, I feel awful."

Dante couldn't take his eyes off him. "Please wake him up; he's too precious when he sleeps."

"Yes sir," he said, holding the top of his foot and wiggling mildly, and working his way down until it yielded some sort of reaction from the passed-out beauty; Nero hated his feet being touched, so it was appropriately deemed the only way to discern life from death and in this case, waking him up from a tap to a vital that would have him sleeping for an hour minimum. His eyes shot open, lifting his legs away from the torture; to his surprise they were spread quickly, Vergil nuzzling between them as he set his hands and chin on the boy's chest with a light and fluffy aura emanating from him.

"Congrats," said Nero, nudging him in the temple with his palm. "I didn't stand a chance."

"I don't know about that; you came pretty close." He pointed to the board where the five full lines showed the close competition. "You would have won if Dante wasn't watching."

Nero laughed at the result, never coming so close in four years. His hand-to-hand combat training was normally headed by Dante, so this was a huge improvement from when they had last fought. "Next time then?" Whenever that may be, there was no denying he was indeed much stronger and skilled from when they had last fought, but Dante wasn't ready to lose to him just yet. He nodded timidly, a sparkle in his eye looking at the tremendous growth of the human beneath him.

With the other figure approaching, he deftly left his comfy perch; Dante was on one knee next to him, wiping the hair out of his face to see any signs of life in his eyes. "What? You're done after that?"

"He's a menace." He swatted the patronising hand away. "By all means, have a go, why don't you?"

The twin offered a hand that he took, pulled to his feet in a flash of overwhelming strength. "I will, but… ya know…" he scratched his head in his dramatic pause, finding a humiliating comment that would make his sibling proud. "Ladies first."

Nero was tempted to punch his lights out, the deviant bugger shining a tad too bright for the associated voltage. "You're really funny," he said, holding both of his wrists in an iron grip and bringing them to his chest; a part of him saw the humour in his seriousness, and another part wanted to shoulder the responsibility in fulfilling whatever would come from him, his request said in a playfully sober tone with clear eyes and the hint of a smile threatening the surface of his earnest face. "Avenge me." He squeezed at his arms, offloading his last bit of oomph into the light fibres as he disappeared from the main stage, plonking onto the folded hoodie.

 _I plan to._

Vergil teleported to his feet. _Did you say something?_

He saw his head shake. _Nothing to worry about._

The complication of the coming scenario took its sweet time saturating into their brains, liquescent to get into the tightest of spots between the grey sponges yet heavy like a wet cloth masking their secrets from the other to read, using just their eyes to figure out the course of action; do they assure a victory for their brother in winning or do they fake their full strength in favour of their true forms to take the win, saving face in front of the human? Do they lose on purpose or fight within the limits of their permitted strength on the earthly plane, providing a better overall and truer outcome and experience with a few broken bones and ruptured internal organs? Who would they prefer to lie to: themselves or their sibling?

It was a decision they would make the further the brawl ensued, mentally crossing their fingers whatever conscious decision they made would make sense in the end. "Nero. Handicap."

When the twins fought, their counters would only flip a single time; the number of wins decreased to one given their circumstances, capabilities, and structural strength of the room. Get pinned down once and you lose – it was as simple and as complicated as that. With that came one central rule that the boy would think of on the spot, most of the good ones taken and forgotten in their early days of training for his curiosity as an outsider to be quenched; now, the fiery imagination of the naïve child was gone, choosing as wisely as his developed brain would allow for less injury and a smaller weight to carry upon failure. Yet there was one instance he hadn't been exposed to, one that he'd wanted to try out for months since their last mutual training session; it was a risk, but the twins would never back down from any challenge. "Fight with one another's weapons." Nero immediately felt the need to stand. "Get them here and hand them over."

And just like that, without plan or failure, things clicked into place. Dante caught on quicker than a match in a burning building, holding his hands behind his back as his brother's genius unfolded. "We can do you one better."

"Oh really?"

"Yes," the younger snapped, directing his stern gaze to the boy who visibly flinched. "We can materialise them for you."

He was sure they were trying to freak him out with that sort of magic trick. "That's not possible; Vergil's already explained why it can't be done: your weapons resonate with your essence, your unique blood stamps and the interconnectivity of parts of your souls lodged within the weapon. What you propose to do is replicate every single one of those attributes as a separate entity with no knowledge of the wavelengths and frequency of telecommunication between the linked parties-"

"Exactly." Vergil took advantage of being in his direct scope of vision, cracking his knuckles in an attempt to visualise the strain his brother's body would theoretically take at getting Rebellion and his twin pistols to appear at his side; and they did, quicker than he'd hoped, comfortably in his hand and tucked neatly in the back of his pants. He gave the boy a twirl like before, showing off the new additions to his 'outfit' in all their shiny glory, flicking his finger along his trusted sword as evidence it wasn't a mere mirage. He did the same with the guns, pulling Ebony in his clutches and shooting into the patch of wall next to his face. "Like this?"

Nero wasn't afraid of their weapons – having the time to clean them on some occasions – but in the wrong hands who knew what may befall them; his eyes bared a dead glaze as they switched from the smoky residue of the dark barrel to the solid bullet lodged in the hard brick, taking it into his hands as it melted back into the clip of the gun. "That's not plausible."

He set the sword next to him. "Who said so?"

"It's not supposed to be possible – the sole purpose of it being complicated, to my understanding, is so something like this never happens."

His understanding was correct, and that alone made it harder to think up another reason for reasonable doubt. "We've gotten stronger-"

"THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH STRENGTH!" Nero covered his face with both his hands, fuming in deep breaths; the twins were honourably saddened by what they were doing to his ill temper, giving them motive to come clean and tolerate whatever Nero-esque sentence the man would deservedly dish out. "This relied on the basis of no one else being talented enough to become an exact copy of who you are as a whole."

"But we're twins."

"You're still different. That's what makes it unique-"

"And also making it easier." Dante finally piped in, filling the tension-filled room with the sound of a lone zipper travelling all the way to the bottom, unclipping, and falling to the same folded state as his twin's; he stuck it out for the human to collect and Nero quickly grabbed it out of his dominating left grip, standing closer as the hand dropped to the demon's side, watching the miraculous blue presence take shape into the sheath of his sibling's – but really his – right-hand companion. The elder encircled its hilt, drawing it out for inspection of the respecting glare to his left; replacing the nonpareil blade back into its sheath he levelled his glare, a small smile appearing alongside an arsenal of translucent baby-blue swords shaping the most powerful silhouette Nero had ever seen, pointing unswervingly at his adversary across the floor while he set the katana aside. "This should be evidence enough to counter your argument."

It must have been the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

One of the swords eased its way to him and pointed to his chest, pressing into him to urge bigger backward steps away from the harming radius of their power. "This could get rough."

The sword joined its brothers and sisters by Dante's side after pushing him sufficiently away from the expected turn of events. "That's what I like to hear."

The cerulean blades all stood at attention, sharp ends adjusting to Vergil's location and half of them moving under telepathic command of the elder twin, making it difficult for Vergil to track all of them with two simultaneous bullets; he did it though, shifting his crossed arms lower for an uninterrupted view of the glowing projectiles that could still rip him to shreds should they venture beyond the barrels of the semi-automatics; he ran forward and set off a few warning shots to his right and left ears, both dodged by the twin who bent under a third swinging shot, resolute between his crossed arms as a fourth and fifth escaped from the damned twin pistols and holding his arms for an open attack on his bare back with a couple of the swords piercing straight through his torso; Vergil hastily broke them off one by one, burning holes into his hand that healed at twice the speed as Dante duel-wielded the transparent weapons for a blow by blow, block by block standoff with the guns, matching his brother's every move. The twins pushed back on the brick-wall defence, sending faster swords and bullets flying all around in the hopes of a proper hit on their respective targets; the younger had a clear shot straight between his brother's eyes and went for it, seeing his body fling backward but not far enough, rising on his bending back and stubborn two feet as the shell sat snuggly between his teeth, spitting it to one side while sending his last line of cover across the room. The sole safe spot in the entire barrage was directly down the middle, viewing the impending size of his enemy grow as he stalked closer to him while tiny cuts burned his frame; Ebony and Ivory lined up nicely on his sheltered forehead, pulling both triggers with charged shots at the same time, and hearing the most awful sound he would ever hear, both claws of Beowulf concealing the muzzles of his prized possessions.

Vergil melted his grip on the pistols and stepped back, helplessly watching Dante throw the firearms over to Nero who caught them. "My turn," was all he said, charmingly tortuous as ever, launching for blood at relishing the tearing of his twin's bare skin at his burst of unbelievable attacks, predominantly using his Hyper Fist to keep his range as short as possible whilst dealing unbearable damage to his opponent; the elder hurled himself into the air for a Killer Bee, slicing downward at supersonic speed for a quick enough end to their charade but only to be stopped dead in his tracks by an equally hard metal covered in warm colour and appearing far deadlier than the sleek and poised Beowulf could be compared to. Gilgamesh encircled the metal gauntlet and thrust him onto his feet, waiting patiently for the situation to balance at equilibrium before unleashing a flood of powerful kicks in Dante's direction, having to neutralise each of them with debilitating blows at the nucleus of the weapon with the trouble of matching the speed in which Vergil delivered the assault. Dante managed to distract the demon, throwing a ball of energised light between them for sufficient distance to propel them both into the air and blinding him for just enough time for a hammer strike, balling both his fists and driving his younger twin into the ground, pelvis first, breaking a hole the size of his butt into the black sponge.

Vergil stood up, rubbing at his tailbone yet again; what was with these two? "God, be careful with that thing."

Dante guiltily scratched his neck, halting at the blood that trickled down his back. "Apologies; I haven't used him in a while."

"You nearly blew my ass off, brother."

"Fine." Gods forbid he'd go the rest of eternity with no ass. He couldn't charm the ladies with his mouth, that was for certain. "Let's finish this like gentleman, shall we?"

Their swords adhered to their owner's magnetic pull, floating to them at the speed of light as a shadowy hum of delight encased the room, both weapons practically smiling at their inclusion in the mock battle. The behemoth Rebellion stood taller than he did, whistling its ill-intentioned song at its rival who chuckled deeply in return, wishing him well on his road to a dignified loss. Yamato was a formidable enemy without the expert swordsman standing behind his every swing; it was a true weapon forged from the depths of Hell that, when coming in contact, hurt in the same manner, the burn of humiliation rushing far deeper than the wound itself; Vergil would have to pay really close attention to the trajectory and impact of each swing and either counter it with equal vigour or avoid the blade with his well-being teetering like a delicate, vibrating thread at the hands of the glistening metal. Dante swung with all of his might as Vergil proceeded to block – back, right, left, centre – swaying the similarly deadly sword with sufficient force for gusts of wind to blow at the younger presence in the room, knocking him back little by little as a warning he was too close; their primary weapons both hit each other on their sweet spot, shoving them into the paralleled walls behind them; Vergil used his Overdrive attack while Dante used Rapid Slash, slicing the red demonic energy into smithereens before he was close enough to cut directly at his twin. He missed as he was propelled upward with his brother close behind him, using their weapons as leverage to gain distance for Vergil's – Dante's – preferred, longer range attacks. More distance meant miscalculation, and miscalculation meant wrong steps at the right time, giving true Dante one-up in anticipation for his projectiles and making things uncomfortable for the brother who preferred being in the personal bubble for a quicker, quieter defeat: he flew forward for his Stinger and Million stab attack, and to his own shock Dante blocked each and every one, moving Yamato with the flow of the stabs and using the entire length of the katana to counter the fatal blows; the final block threw Rebellion into the air and set up the perfect finisher, one millisecond too late as the decisive Judgement Cut sliced through his chest and forced him onto his back along with the rest of the faint chance he had at winning this set up. Vergil: ZERO; Dante: ONE. Dante dropped his beloved sword and held a hand out to his brother, lifting him to his feet with no inkling of well-earned success and no energy to be happy at the conclusion.

The brothers eyes glowed an unsightly red as they reached the finishing line, the pent up anger and frustration filtering through their heads as an off-putting aftermath to a good training session; they had both put their bodies and souls into this fight, treating it like a true battle with their lives on the line and even more intensity given the further background rivalry as twin brothers. They were each other's equal in every configuration of being, fighting to emerge victorious not for the surface glory, but to challenge the other to become stronger and surpass the limitations they foolishly present to themselves on a daily basis. They stood empty beside one another, catching their breath and partially exhausted by what they had endured, matching the foul mood that would gradually fade to normality the more they relaxed.

"Do you mind if I ask you guys something?"

It was a bad time, bearing in mind the adrenaline and ruthless mojo flowing through their narrow bloodstream; it was enough slowing the circulation to elongate their stamina, but constraining out of attack mode meant very few neurons available for any type of thinking and computing as the others gradually went back to normal. Their mood wasn't too great either; two curdling bloodthirsty menaces shoved back into present day without a satisfactory quench weren't the ideal partners for a conversation, and given their current contexts, neither were up for idle chit chat. "What is it?" Dante attempted his gentlest tone, freezing Nero in place.

The boy had no clue why he decided to ask this question at this specific time. "What did you do to the three kids who attacked me?"

Even worse; it was the past, and it carried heavy baggage. If they could go one day without a serious thought, it would be today. "I killed them."

"We killed them."

His beady eyes met Vergil, grimacing as a bitter taste hit his tongue. "You tortured them because death wasn't a suited punishment. I got angry and sliced their throats." The boy wasn't as shocked, but the younger brother was never usually so frank. "It was a mercy killing; by the time Vergil was done with them they were begging me to take their lives."

Nero couldn't begin to fathom what had to be done for someone to implore death. "They were human-"

"WE KNOW." They responded together, a deep echo of their voices bouncing around the walls and unnerving to a state he remembered four years prior, taking his first steps in the double story with the towering strangers he'd later know to become his new family.

"You said humans are uncharted territory."

Vergil, far calmer than his brother, stuck his hand out to intervene and had it swatted away in the same motion; the elder pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and spoke, trying to tweak the tetchy tone bubbling in his throat. "When you entered our lives, we altered the clause. We made a promise that someone dare lay a single finger on you they'd pay with their lives; in their case it was thirty, and that goes beyond the boundaries of killing." He sniffed and looked straight at the boy with a sincere face. "We're not the type to break promises."

He understood. Completely. "But… their families-"

"They were from the orphanage; there was no one to inform. If there was I would have taken full responsibility."

Vergil tried again with a hand on his shoulder, feeling unearthly tension knotting under his calm grasp. "Dante-"

"Listen to me, Nero," he began again, overcome by unnecessary anger at recalling the only memory he'd choose to forget: the outlines of three figures strapped to chairs clear as black and white; the deep trenches in their cheeks from the tears they cried for a week; the events unfolding like an old-fashioned projector flipping to the gory bits Dante knew nothing of that left no external scars and empty prayers on his brother's deaf but sympathising ears. "We swore to look after you until the day you decided to deem us unfit to do so. I don't know how D-" a subdued sigh, "Vergil feels, but I'd prefer for that day not to come, do you understand me?"

All three of them were distressingly tranquil. "You didn't-"

"Do you understand me?"

It pained him to nod, treading carefully on the path of least resistance. Pushing further would open a rattrap of answers he didn't want to know, fully aware that the twin could sugar coat the grimiest of detail that would stick to the surface of your skull. His hope of fulfilling the void left by his assailants was replaced with the twin's irked faces at the sudden interrogation, and he wasn't too sure it was a better feeling. "You didn't deserve what they did to you. We returned the favour, that's all." He was talking; it was a good sign. The real threat was when he became despondent, quiet to his own wits end at being too shaken to answer. "That's the only thing you need to remember."

 _If there was more than their lives to take-_

 _I know, Dante, and I don't want to be here for that conversation. You're one brutal son of a bitch._

Nero's head jerked to Vergil as he chuckled at the joke he missed; damn that tiny smile that melted every bone in his body along with every trouble, thought, and worry, so youthful and hypnotising it couldn't be more of what Vergil wasn't. "Dinner will be ready in two hours. Play until then." Dante copied his younger twin and tenderly crushed Nero's shoulder, turning on his heel and walking to the door.

The door closed and he was safely out of earshot. "Who took the fall?"

Vergil's head twisted slowly. "No one. Their bodies were never found."

Nero puffed his chest with doubting purple air, grabbing his training hoodie off the floor ready to zoom out of the room. "I'll go talk to him-"

"Don't bother; you won't get through to him when he sees red. Plus, you got him in the middle of his hundredth midlife crisis."

Timing wasn't his strong suit. "I didn't know he felt anything for it anymore."

"He feels nothing for them. You were on his mind the entire time." The hybrid needed to avoid the gaze in the other direction. "It's fairly difficult to explain, but my brother dotes over you; you saved him as much as he saved you, and if there were words to describe how he felt when he heard what happened to you I'd use them. He was so hurt, broken from the inside out, angrier than anything I have come across and I've had my fair share of enemies. True, he was clueless about children in general, but-" He scratched his neck searching for the words. "He'd become so used to you that living without you wasn't an option. And when you begin to feel those strings attach to every part of you, nothing is impossible when it comes down to the wire."

Nero looked at the bland wall in the opposite direction. "Did he tell you all this?"

He looked directly in front of him. "Just a hunch."

* * *

They sat on their usual spots at dinner crowded around the pot of fettuccini he had promised Nero earlier in the day, watching the twins scoff the herb-infused creation as he sat cumbersomely twiddling his thumbs after a few spoons of his beloved dish; the twins seemed to have dropped the issue of his query back in the gym with their respective appetites in full force. The boy wasn't in the mood to eat, piercing the chunky mushrooms and eating them one at a time, each bringing a different level of bile to the back of his throat the more the memory replayed itself in his brilliant head. His face told a thousand diverse stories, switching between melancholy and zoning out completely along the grey walls. Vergil felt equally as deflated leaving the conversation to give the floor to the one with all of the answers, maddened at the aftermath of everything that had transpired during the course of the day; the loudmouth he was meant to be followed the sombre tone of their meal, keeping his head down in his bowl and taking his time with spinning his fork in countless circles, each mouthful bigger than the last; Dante sat quietly too, timeously glancing to the gloomy human across the dining table, scrunching his nose-on-loan to hide his irritation that he had no control over. Every emotion was heightened by the mini volcano true Vergil had grown in his stomach, subsequently sucking it in and having it explode and making him feel fifteen times worse than he should, ruining his favourite mealtime for something as stupid as Nero questioning his integrity and moral compass as a whole. Fury had nothing on what he felt, breathing and eating to keep his shaking hand under control. "I want to say something-"

"My exact words to the judge were 'I'll do anything'. That fell into the category. Let that be the end of it." His voice was painfully Vergil, deep and raspy like the narrator you'd need at your funeral; the after texture of sandpaper sat uncomfortably on all their tongues, unable to continue eating their dinner. "I asked if you wanted to talk, and you said no."

He remembered being too conceited to say otherwise. "I was barely sixteen. Who wants to talk about what they're feeling at that age?"

Dante kept his eyes on his food. "I was prepared to tell you every detail if that's what you asked." He paused. "Come to think of it, I still am."

It was a story he could repeat once only. "All I wanted was that one piece of information and I got it. I don't wanna know anything else." The boy truly didn't; forty eight months of going out with them proved all he needed to know, seeing the first-hand brutality their kind was capable of; it made sense for them to use their full strength in eradicating whatever hoard they faced daily, but the passion witch which they spoke of him evoked a different feeling of horror in his core, putting the most gruesome of pictures together to form a terrible entity that may have not come remotely close to what they had put those kids through. To them, the slip of a finger held fatal possibilities to the creature on the other end of the sword tip; losing a sliver of intentional control was even worse.

The atmosphere in the room began to soften like melting butter, the clutter of forks on plates picking up in pace from the titbit of insight. "He'd do it again."

The boy managed to swallow his first, cold mouthful. "What?"

Vergil picked at a few pieces of bacon and struggled to get them on his fork. "You're thinking 'would he have done it if it happened now?'. He would."

"In a heartbeat," said Dante, stabbing straight downward and picking up two streaks of the salty goodness, holding it out for his brother to nibble on with his pasta. "You seem to heavily underestimate what you mean to us. I strongly suggest you never do that again. I don't mind the blood on my hands if it means you're safe."

Nero was touched in a strange way, a childish grin finally making its way across his face; gazing over the heavy oak, he watched the pair scuffle over a single piece of pasta, never anticipating they would become the most significant people in his life. They bordered on the outskirts of sanity and reasoning, both of which were completely nonsensical at times, but he'd be damned if he ever denied how deeply in love with them he was by giving him a chance at life. The twins would never understand how grateful he was to stand in their presence, eat with them, talk with them, fight, work, and play with them, that he'd be able to live a life he didn't believe he earned for a future he'd never foreseen having. When he looked at them he saw the bright ethereal glow of angels too modest in their own right, criticising their accomplishments in favour for his own to shine through, none too big so that he soared even higher than his wildest dreams. "I've been working for ten full minutes on an apology and you won't even let me finish it."

Dante slurped a noodle through a small crevice he made with his lips. "There's nothing to apologise for. You caught us off guard; we should have been anticipating it."

He didn't want to talk about it anymore. "It was ages ago."

Vergil held up his index finger, signalling he wanted the next dialogue slot a second after a vigorous serving to his cakehole. "In fairness, this conversation should go to Vergil for causing most of the psychological trauma." Another pause, looking nonchalantly to his own frozen face in the seat next to him. "Oh wait, that's me, isn't it?" The hybrid stared into the distance chewing his meal; Nero assumed he was being cute to lighten the mood; Dante gagged on the freshly-made soft pasta.

"Why did you do it?"

"I wanted them to feel everything we did. I wanted them to feel helpless, which was accomplished; I wanted to hear their hearts breaking, which I did; I wanted them to feel the pain they inflicted on you, and it went smoothly." The younger rested his elbow on the table as he continued the delivery of his speech, freeing his hand of the cutlery as he entwined his fingers under his chin. "I wanted to feel the tremors bleed from their minds to the soles of their feet as they slowly came to the realisation they weren't going to leave that basement alive," the flicker of a raised eyebrow pointed in the other twin's direction, "which Dante took care of." The elder agreed in bowing deeply, looking into Nero's soul as his twin spoke the truth all three of them didn't want to admit. Vergil made sure to hook on Dante's leg under the table, the hot glow transferring his thoughts at lightning speeds. "Don't romanticise our legacy – we're not exotic pets; we're actually frowned upon and are just as bad as the things we slaughter every day. The only difference is that our human side distinguishes between right and wrong, but that doesn't exclude us from doing the wrong thing anyway. What we did was horrific as we have stated many times before, but some force or another decided to get personal; as far as we're concerned, disrupt our social space and blood will be shed." He narrowed his eyes the way only he could, creeping Nero out. "We are bloodthirsty creatures minding our own business doing a favour to humanity. Fragments of that hypothesis deciding to screw us over will be the last decision they'll ever make."

Dante dug at the pot reaching an all new high on the amount of carbs he was putting in his body. "Those are his thoughts."

Nero caught his stare before he could tuck into his second plate. "And what are yours?"

True Vergil's mind came up empty, moving his leg and leaving him to think something up on the fly. "I'm still figuring them out."

 _Nice one; I would have said the same._

 _It's been an entire day. I'm used to it by now._

They laughed at their silly attempt at humour, dying down at the solemnity carved on Nero's face. "I won't think any less of you, if that's what you're afraid of-"

"I believe I did the right thing." The world would implode on itself before he'd deny his brother righteous justice.

Vergil tried to hide the swelling of his heart, although he would have to make do with the inch that his kin's cold body would allow. "I don't care what you think of me, I really don't." That was a blatant lie. "As long as you know that you come first to us, that's all that matters."

It was a much needed information overload, coming to the deeper conclusion that they were far more badass than he'd dreamed them to be. "I don't think any less of you two." Far from it, in fact; he wouldn't dare choose anyone else to look up to when there were two brave, courageous, heartfelt beings right in front of him. The day he walked through their front door they had solidified themselves as heroes in his books by a unanimous decision, unbiased and complying to the rules and regulations and meeting the single-tick-box criteria. "But that won't happen again. I won't put you in that position."

'Easier said than done,' Dante thought, shaking the fringe into his face and floofing it as true Dante watched on, smelling the agitation through the pores in his hand. "I'm glad. Thank you. But that's not your decision to make."

"It isn't, but at least you know." Their pained expressions at getting the truth off their chests struck him deep in his nerve centre, mentally writing a reminder on a small post-it note to never see them again. "I'm sorry I asked. I thought the answer would have been simpler." Let them go with a few scratches and bruises; put their faces in the local newspaper; gave them a bit of a scare; literally any other answer from the one he'd received.

Nero left a few morsels of his supper in desperate need of contact, moving to Dante's side, bending over the back of the chair and hanging his arms over his shoulders and around the demon's neck. Relieved at the lighter air he returned the gesture in kind, imperturbably digging his nails to the roots of his hair, being vigilant in keeping his neck as stiff as possible. "When have we become synonymous with simple?"

He had a point. The corner of his eye was a dangerous place to be, a tentative smile digging into his shoulder and harming the innocent stomach acid butterflies that fluttered without a care in in the world in the big space. "You guys want some chocolate? I opened the chilli-infused one this afternoon."

Vergil was the usual culprit of his eyes turning into headlights at the prospect of free chocolate, the small glint a total giveaway as he tried to play it off as a tasty inconvenience. This time no reaction came, with the elder of the two honing the beady eyes at the glory that was his ultimate cheat snack. "I'll bother you for his two blocks."

Nero left his perch and retreated to his room, an extra spring in his step for any inane reason to eat chocolate. "The two of you are somehow more fun today. Is there something I should know about?"

He returned to his perch, relaxing his forearms on either side of his neck while breaking the blocks without fault or skew lines in front of his face, popping the smaller of the two pieces directly into his mouth. "Us? Fun?" Dante bit down hard, cracking it into smaller pieces fit for chewing and conversing all the same. "What's gotten into you?" The twin gently grasped his upper arms, leaning his head into the crook of Nero's neck. He'd been dreading the moment ever since the suggestion was made, now in charge of taking responsibility for the uncultivated field of expertise that strictly belonged to the other brother. "Pull up a chair; there's something we'd like to talk to you about."

"Sure," he whispered, that profound undertone of supremacy lacing a single word driving Dante insane. "Let me clean the table first." He snaked away collecting everything on the table in one go, putting the empty plates into the dishwasher and pouring the untouched pasta into a deep lunchbox for the midnight snack Dante would look for in a few hours.

 _You have them, right?_

Vergil passed over the glasses. _I had one job._

The fakeouts were an added extra Lynette had snuck into the bargain, matching the rims to complement their ensembles; Dante was gifted with a deep black half-rimmed retro square frame and clear lenses that converted to sunglasses in conjunction to the potency of the sun's rays; Vergil had a two-toned full square frame in black fading to a transparent grey, each with its own geometric modern design along the sides. They put them on, letting them rest comfortably on the bridge of their noses and ready for their scolding as the bare footsteps left the kitchen, taking big strides to join the two who had miraculously turned the other way; he was sure neither had moved from their place and dialled down the weighted suspicion, pulling a chair to Dante's left and setting it in the middle of the space. With the final corner of their triangle seated, their upturned stares caught him dead between his legs, made all the more wicked by the gullibly carnal looks on their faces. At that moment, he was fairly certain they were trying to kill him. "You said there were no glasses!"

They were his weakness and they knew it. Lynette knew it. The dust mites in his pillow knew it. "That was a lie. We wanted to show them to you without the clothes." Tolerable but not better, their appearance resembled the librarians you took to the palaeontology section of the library – away from the students and any security cameras – enquiring about the specific books on the lowest shelf, stooping low to retrieve them and staying in that position for a good fifteen minutes. "How do we look?" Dante gave him a treacherous stare from under his strategically placed bangs. "Use words this time; drool doesn't hold up in court."

 _We didn't do this to hurt him, Vergil._

 _It's fun hearing his penis squeak._

He smiled crookedly as he took a deep breath and rubbed his hands along his thighs, Vergil's hand giving his arm a gentle reassuring squeeze. _You're one evil bastard._ Dante tried his best to not react too shocked at the obvious. "It's come to our attention that… ummm…" This was much harder than he'd thought it would be. "We haven't been paying attention… to specific needs of yours."

This didn't appear like one of their elaborate tricks. "What do you mean?"

"Please just… just bear with me." The twins giggled elegantly, more at themselves at not being able to handle a conversation they were physically fluent in. "You see, you're at that age where you… your body is doing weird things, making you feel even stranger things that may cause you to panic-"

"I'm passed that. I passed that a while ago." Indeed; the deep voice, inexplicable growth spurt, short soft hairs in places they shouldn't grow and developed, sculpted muscles clearly weren't adequate evidence. Nero spread his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees, frowning as he laced his long, pale fingers in front of him involuntarily giving them a peak at how long passed that time he really was.

The elder nodded hastily standing from his spot. "Okay then; glad we had this talk-"

A veiny hand stopped him dead in his tracks. "You dragged me into this; you don't get to walk away."

"Fine." Dante sat back down, more rubbing and more breaths. "What I'm trying to say is… you're at the age when you're polishing off your awkward experiences… and changing into a man of some degree; a… well-defined, adventurous, strong, intelligent specimen." A touch Vergil had improvised on the fly to hold his attention that had been marinating overnight in Dante's juices. "Beyond all that, your mind may start telling you that you want to… start sharing your life with someone; you find that… a part of your life feels…"

Vergil found the word for him. "…empty."

The elder clicked his fingers. "Yes, empty. And you need to fill that void with something…"

He was lost again. "…tangible."

"Yes, tangible... and before anything gets too serious, you want to… experiment as such… trying different things to see what gets you ticking… sexually…" He was beginning to feel uncomfortable at sugar-coating his explanation. "The… As…" He started again; Nero wished to not interrupt his 'fatherly' duties to deliver 'the talk', and it was cute seeing him struggle. "Your body introduces urges that are triggered…"

It was gone, officially. "May I butt in?" asked Vergil, grabbing the Band-Aid at one end and readying his grip to rip it off in one go. _Fuck, please do._ "We want to know that you're being safe. Sex-wise."

Nero naively leaned back in his chair in a full-frontal display of five feet eleven inches of manliness. "How do you know I've done it yet?"

"We are going on assumption here; we'd prefer to guess that you have done it instead of the other option that led to us demeaning your sexual potential." The hybrid tilted his head in curiosity, forgetting the other important question he was meant to ask. "It's happened, hasn't it?"

The boy's squishy cheeks puffed as he blushed into next Tuesday, showing a stunning pearly white smile while crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "Yes, it has."

This was news to one of them. "And you used protection? You're clued up on how to use it?"

He blushed even more. "I did and I am."

Vergil's heart grew three sizes. "Okay. I'm certain you know about masturbation too?"

"I do," he said, sounding very pleased with himself, replaying the two words in his head and pulling a confused face. "Not that I do it all day; that sounded so much cockier than I planned it to sound."

 _HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE! He said cock!_

 _Concentrate, Dante._

The younger twin pushed his glasses further up his nose, placing a gentle hand on Nero's knee. "We're making sure you're healthy and being safe with that obstruction that isn't listed under our house insurance."

For the first time since Vergil had taken over, Dante spoke up, lifting his glasses to sit above his fringe. "I was trying not to be crude-"

"The amount of time you would have taken to get where I got in five sentences would have allowed an unpleasant crust to form around the very area we are speaking of – would you like that?" The other two shook their heads wildly, thankful and scarred by the image true Dante put in their head. "Of course not. He knows what he's doing. Are you satisfied?"

The elder presented the sweetest smile the others had seen in a long time; Vergil nearly peed his pants at what was demonically impossible beaming right before his eyes. "I just wanted to know whether or not he's had sex."

"And that's been clarified."

Nero noticed the undertone of the follow-up question, sniffing the powdery residue left on the lining of the query. "I didn't make anyone pregnant." He looked straight at Vergil this time, rubbing his thumb over the length of the hybrid's fingers. "No babies for a long time for me."

Dante tried his utmost for his eyes to ignore the pull to his kneecap. "In all seriousness, don't feel uncomfortable about bringing anyone home. We don't want you to think we're 'cramping your style' as you youngers call it-"

"I would never say that until the day I die."

He wouldn't; he was too far a sophisticated and mature eighteen year old to be associated with youngsters. In some cases he spoke as if he were older than the twins, which was a phenomenal feat to out-age Vergil and his sixteenth century English. "We want the best for you. We don't want you to neglect the hunger… down south." They all laughed in their little triangle at his clever choice of words, looking forward to hearing a worse euphemism fall like dirty grains of sand onto the floor where the filth belonged. "Be healthy, stay healthy, eat lots of pineapple-"

Dante stole his hand back to cover his face in embarrassment. "You didn't have to go that far."

He evidently missed a huge passing slice of apple pie. "Why? What's wrong with pineapple?"

"Nothing," he voiced through the gaps in his fingers, veiling the audacity at spilling the treasured finding to someone who didn't need it. "If you have any questions, please don't feel embarrassed to ask either of us. Individually we fuck up, but as a team…" They both shrugged at one another simultaneously, "…we might fuck up even more, but that's beside the point. You can come to us for anything anytime, okay?"

Nero straightened in his chair. "Okay."

The demons followed. "Okay?"

"Okay." Nero looked amid the twins in awe of their courageous step into adulthood; his cerulean orbs twinkled at the thought of how far they'd come from dangerous bachelors to working dads on the fly, thinking on how hard this must have been to nip in the bud as quickly as possible yet making him feel like as normal of a kid as they could. "Thank you. For this."

Sincerity at its finest, it picked at Vergil's internal organs like a spicy burrito. "It's our pleasure, Nero."

Dante wasn't too good with the emotional ending, computing the cuteness on display and wrestling the mounting 'AWWWWWWWWWWs' from escaping the back of his throat. His babies were growing up; it was revolting. "I mean, what do you say to someone who could probably have better sex than you can? 'Hang in there, chump' doesn't work like it used to."

Vergil was too exhausted to fully roll his eyes at how good his older brother was getting at the dry, sassy humour. "Is there anything you want to ask us right now?"

The boy shook his head. "I think I'm good; let me sleep on it and get back to you."

"Then we're done." The hum of relief mingled with their moving seats echoed through the expanse of their home. "Apologies that we sprang that on you so suddenly; it would've been better to have told you beforehand."

"It's totally fine." Nero ran his hands through his hair, stretching his arms to the ceiling and giving the twins a strip of skin above the waistband of his cotton pyjamas; Dante would be a good boy just this once, shifting his gaze to the kitchen and allowing his blind spot full access to his bare hip – it got caught on the way down and he didn't bother pulling it to decency. "Get upstairs; I'm making cocoa."

Why did he have to make everything he said so sexy? When it came to Nero's cocoa, the twins were powerless upon hearing the medium-sized pot hit the stove; Vergil jogged on the spot tugging at the hem of his brother's shirt, wide smile and moving eyebrows at the ready to steer them straight up the closest staircase, biting into his shoulder to start the engine. The glasses made him irresistible, risking a good look over his shoulder for a mouthful of cute, his striking gaze catching him by surprise as the lower half of his body involuntarily caught the same jitterbug to compliment his hyper counterpart and race up the flight to Vergil's room. They couldn't believe it had been just as they'd practiced: everything from the queasy introduction, the stuttering, the long paused for supposed dramatic effect, the emotionality and anxiety on display, right down to the informal interruption had worked surprisingly in their favour; Vergil would never let Dante sink a ship on his own, even at his very best to halt their chat altogether. In his conscious mind, twenty first century technology and easy access to sharing data obliterated the conjecture that Nero had needed it, but powered through his own selfish want at playing the rational part in giving him the false sense of normality he lawfully agreed to, he'd suffer through it all repeatedly to ensure a safe space in their home and beyond its four walls, dying and withering brain cells be damned.

The sibling entering last silently shut the door and turned the lock in its cradle; he spun, watching his brother in the corner of the room with scorching red irises tapping a single digit on his full, plump pout. "What's on your mind, Vergil?"

The single finger turned to a fist, clenching his hand as he bit and drew blood. "I'm secretly praying 'making cocoa' is his new stripper name."

* * *

Downstairs, Nero added four cups of boiling water and sixteen teaspoons of cocoa powder into the pot, turning it to a medium heat and stirred slowly with a metal whisk, evening the ratio of one to four parts as it heated the granules for a smoother texture, mixing soundly with the water. He maintained a steady counter-clockwise rhythm as it bubbled, changing to a milder heat before adding the shock of three ice cubes to the chocolate liquid. His mind meandered back eleven minutes in time, squaring his jaw at the full force of unnecessary eroticism that had perpetually peeped its head through their encounter: he had nowhere to run and hide with two forms of pure unbridled death staring him in the face; everywhere he dared to look brought his blood pressure one degree closer to the imminent implosion of his insides, compelled to carry on as a fully-functioning human being veiling the increasing temperature of his internal and external organs. The eye contact was a sign of utmost respect to his protectors, yet he had never found looking at them difficult until now – bless him, he enjoyed sneaking peeks when they thought no one was watching, doing something goofy in a mirror or out in the garden by the pool, carrying pictures on his phone as hostages should he ever need them – not seeing the twins as the pieces of olive-skinned and muscled Greek gods that every customer did but rather as the two men who brought their busy lives to a screeching halt to take care of a ruthless, lonely teenager who craved nothing but a sense of accomplishment and assurance from outsiders who played no definite role in his life.

The tables had now turned with the open topic of sex rolling off their thick tongues, pink from the robust knowledge they held on the subject; he recalled the way their lips moved, contorting away from their box of smutty dialect in favour of one suitable for his age and the distaste that came with the inability to speak their minds on the matter. It was exquisite observing the internal fight that showed nowhere on their faces, taking the affair seriously for his sake, but in doing so making it more difficult for him to muse on their similar wavelength. With the image so vivid in his conscience, the unused hand carefully fondled the front of his tracksuit bottoms, his lungs burdened with maintaining his core temperature on a normal scale; he rubbed harder, slower, cupping the dense outline of his length down the side of his left thigh, clenching his teeth as the sensitivity to his delicate shaft heightened the more he played with it. Looking straight ahead he smiled to himself, digging his tongue into the side of his cheek as his hand plunged into his pants and underwear, skin on skin, squeezing a final drop of life into his throbbing member; he turned the pot even lower allowing it to simmer properly, holding himself up at the edge of the counter and pumping harder on himself, bending his head in unauthorised shame while deeply moaning into his t-shirt. Nero pulled long and hard at his penis, biting his lower lip in response to keeping a cool head above the counter should Dante catch him in the act on the way to his room. He pumped a few more, acting on the absolute elation of an oncoming release in resting his forehead on the cool marble, joining his hand at constricting at the moment of intense pleasure; he breathed quietly through his gaping mouth, gathering his orgasm in his palm and lathering the ooze on the unfaltering organ.

He walked to the fridge nursing his heavy erection, comically grabbing hold of the milk as he measured four cups to add to the solution in front of him, smiling maniacally to the ceiling as his eyes rolled into his skull at the build-up of pressure between his legs; Nero laughed quietly, seeing and feeling thousands of tiny pop rocks under his eyelids and in his hand and waiting for that one firework to set off the chain reaction inside his abdomen to accompany the wheezing groan in the back of his throat, altering to a hankering growl that left him desperate for more. Twisting the knob on the stove he brought it back to a proper boil, practically floating to the sink to wash his hands; with one last glance at the empty space, he naughtily relieved his hand from duty and sucked on the tip of his finger, grazing his teeth for every ounce of aroma that had soaked into his skin.

He had a thought; it went against their contract, but how many times had Vergil done the exact same thing?

Dante stepped noisily down the few stairs as he rinsed his hands in the sink, squirting soap from the dispenser and washing wherever it could reach. The boy glimpsed over his shoulder and found the demon had perched his accessory back at the bridge of his nose in favour of his new, dishevelled hairstyle. Clumps of hair stuck out in every direction, glinting in the sole lighting of the kitchen that emphasised the facial expression that spoke novels to Nero's mushy brain; it aided not that he pulled it off flawlessly, skewing his face to draw attention away from his swollen lips and glazed, piercing blue eyes. The hybrid turned to the smell and flinched at the chilling look the boy gave him, wiping his hands dry on a paper towel as he stirred the mixture; the masterpiece was slowly coming together, keeping his eyes trained at ignoring the broad-shouldered mess move to the opposite end of the kitchen, leaning against the counter where he was caught. "I beg you not to ask, because I don't know the answer."

He kept his eyes on the pot. "I do; would you like to hear it?"

The demon scratched under his ear. "Would you believe me if I told you nothing happened?"

"I would," he said, eyeballing him over his shoulder; no bruising to his astonishment, but felt his focus being dragged to the soft skin that was conveniently itching. "Then I'd ask your hair what went wrong and he'd tell me the truth."

Dante figured it was the smell of chocolate that counselled the surge of confidence, sucking its velvety goodness through the metal whisk; he set his hands on his hips as his body swayed to his right, slanting his head in sexy, irrevocable defeat. "I can't win with you, can I?"

"You've never won since I moved in." He switched the plate off, mimicking the demon in all his sassy glory. "I'm too adorable, you see?"

The other man sniggered, removing his glasses to give them a wipe before resuming its routine position, pushing the fake lenses deliberately slow and providing the boy with an unjustified mouthful at besting him at his own game; Vergil had seen it all, heard it all, feigning ignorance for the sake of his adolescent hormones finding its own path to his own treasured eighth wonder of the world snuggled between some lucky fucker's legs. He saw the way Nero ogled both of them, licking his lips and swallowing the excess of saliva in his mouth. He heard his heart miss a few beats when the questions were directed his way. He smelt the silts of his essence draping the kitchen, given away by sitting at the top of the stairs the few minutes it took Nero to come. He was doing an incredible job concealing his lust, but he should have known it would fall flat in the presence of a being reliant most on his sense of smell. For now, Vergil would simultaneously drop the issue and make sure to inform his brother of the resource to neutralise his blackmail resources. Yes, they both knew about that too. "Can I ask you something?"

Nero busied himself with retrieving their mugs. "Sure."

"How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your first time."

He set them down next to the stove. "The honest answer or the one that will make you feel good about your self-esteem?"

The cocky bastard. No, wrong choice of words; the supercilious asshole. That made him feel much better. "Mix in a bit of both, you smarmy cockwugget!"

The comment earned him a wet whisk pointed in his face. "Don't you dare compare me to those puppets; they are freaks of nature and deserve every cuss in existence." He set it back into the pot and gave it its final stirs before serving, nervously keeping his eyes away from exposure. "But I'm kind of embarrassed to talk about it; every time I do I get over emotional and ramble and I feel guilty for making a big deal out of it."

It was a big deal, wasn't it? "Who do you think you're talking to? You have no right to feel that way." There was only one way to get him to talk; when he saw no inclination from the boy, Dante grabbed the utensil from him and spun him on the way up to the counter, sitting him next to their mugs as he overcame the shockwave of the mild sexual harassment. His nose lined up with Nero's chin, looking up from under luscious eyelashes as he nuzzled between his legs and connected his arms at the dimple in his back. "Spill – not the romantic stuff but the filth. I have no patience to 'ooooh' and 'aaahhh' for thought-out plans, candles, and a three-course meal."

He was cornered with no way out; the failsafe to squeezing information out of him. "Okay, ummm…" he began, reminiscing and blushing almost immediately. "I couldn't have been more obvious in my intention; I got straight to the point, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was on my back with this beautiful creature on top of me." Nero's arms rested on Dante's shoulders and played with the short hairs on his head; it always comforted him. "I knew I was saying things, but I didn't recognise my own voice. I wasn't thinking straight at all, not wanting it to end and just devouring as much as they would give me. My hands went everywhere – chest, thighs, hips, hair – grappling onto anything as I slowly lost my mind at how good it felt. I hadn't realised I was moaning until everything stopped and it was pointed out to me, making them go harder than they ever had to get me to scream, and I did. I was quite surprised you hadn't woken up: I was loud as hell, but I didn't care. I would take your scolding as long as it meant I got to keep the feeling a little bit longer." Dante nearly faded out of attention with the relaxing motions on his scalp. "We lasted three hours before I caved in. I couldn't take it anymore. My body had nothing left and I passed out. Terrible of me, I know, but I've never known exhaustion like it." He stopped; the twin finally woke up. "Fin."

He only had one question. "Why didn't you stop us earlier?"

"I know it means the world to you to give me as much of a normal life as I can have, and that would have included us having the talk; I didn't mind it at all, and you two seemed to have fun with it." Little did he know it was the complete opposite, their stress levels and blood pressure flying through the roof at the notion of a serious conversation with him. "Did your dad ever have the talk with you?"

The elder twin moved Nero's hands back to the back of his head where the scratching ensued. "Kind of; when we were about sixteen or so, he gave us a general rundown. I think I'd done it a couple of times already and Vergil just turned pale every single time sex was mentioned. It was a running joke in the house until he brought a girl home one night and proved us wrong." Did he want to stop the jerk in his leg? Absolutely not. "It shut us up for hundreds of years."

In all honesty, that sounded like something Vergil would do. "Did either of you ever… get wild at some point?"

He knew what the human was implying, and it was sad he couldn't plainly say it. "Do I not fit the stereotyped construct that allows me to have a boyfriend?"

The air in the room changed entirely. "You've had a boyfriend?"

"No, but I was just asking in general." The twin moved away from his back and tapped the boy's wrists to continue. "To answer your previous question, which I'm still not too sure on what it means, yes I have slept with a sample of the male species." He paused, trying to remember the exact detail of the subject concerning his brother. "I did pluck up the courage to ask someone once. Does that count?"

It did count; as per Nero's huge eyes, it must have. "What did he say?"

"What do you think he said? We were young and stupid; still are. We're still really close friends now."

He gripped his hair by the roots, angling his head up to look him dead in the eye. "He's probably regretting that decision as we speak."

Nero was trying to make him feel better, adopting cuteness too potent for his own good; he slid him down from his place and made sure he landed on his feet, moving his head accordingly at the adjusted height difference. "Some things work out as they're supposed to."

Vergil was there when it happened. He avoided the full story for quite some time, unable to talk without evoking some sort of reaction owing to the man still playing a vital role in their lives. Had he completely disappeared was another story, pocketing reasons for them to get wasted in the confines of their home while replacing lyrics to every song they knew in favour of him dying of a fifteenth century plague or an STI. He, however, had sworn to never overstep that limit, choosing to rather keep the peace with the only monster he'd die for – correction; one of the two. He was halfway across the lounge when Nero called out to him, a bag of marshmallows in one hand and canned whipped cream in the other. "How was your first time, Dante?"

He wouldn't answer as Dante. "Miserable. She wouldn't shut up."

Had Nero been paying notice to everything until now, his clue-giving may not have been in vain. The likelihood of him catching onto their circumstance dangled on the negative side of the scale, but that didn't mean they couldn't have fun – he had been so pleased with his reply that he didn't notice the sticky utensil fly across the room and hit the back of his head, getting tangled in the strands and dousing them in cold liquid that ran down his back. Dante turned painfully slow, declaring war with the teen in an icy stare down that made history textbooks weep in fear, snubbing the uncomfortable obstacle as he trod to his room. Nero was in for a world of hurt, bidding an ear to gauge his stage of anger and hearing nothing. A quiet Dante was anyone's worst nightmare, fuming like a pot of hot oil waiting for a single droplet of water to jump in and count its lucky stars before imploding and setting the closest object on fire with all hope burning with it. The human poured his portion into the blood-crimson mug, placing the spongy air around the rim and a tall swirl of cream in the middle, adding two extra pink cubes on top crossing his fingers it would get him out of whatever mood he'd be in.

He took the steps two by two, slow enough to equate him taking a single step and making the same progress to his bedroom door, looking through the keyhole and viewing nothing but the comfy red bed and the headboard responsible for most of his sleepless nights. He knocked three times to no answer and no scuffling feet, planning to take the bull by his sharp, sweltering, deformed horns, okay that he may not make it out alive. Taking a huge breath and holding it, he let himself in with his eyes shut waiting for the coming blow to the back of his head. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know it was going to do-" when no pain came, he opened them, watching a naked Dante saunter to him with a towel around his waist, drying his hair with a smaller version of the red fabric, "-that."

He upgraded to both hands, elongating his astronomically toned upper body. "Then may I ask your reasoning behind chucking it in the first place?"

Nero needed to take a sip of the concoction, his mouth challenging new levels of aridity he didn't think possible. The picture messed with his circuitry too much, staring two heartbeats too long. "I wish I remembered."

Dante threw the towel on the bed, moving to the object that caused the mess in the first place. He handed it over. "Here you go." He wouldn't let it be that simple, would he? He extended his reach for the utensil and was wrenched forward like a ragdoll in slow motion, Dante taking advantage of his inattentiveness as he bent low for a hair's width to separate them. "Let me warn you for next time – at least have a good reason for messing up my hair other than to blame your selective amnesia on my body. Understood?"

Yep, he saw it. The ultimatum was laced in good intention, self-promotion, and some degree of logic. "Understood."

Playing bad cop was out of the way. "If I may-" he held his hands out for his drink, gripping the base as he held it tightly in his grasp and taking a small sip; Nero made this every night and each cup was always different from the last, barring the idea of it becoming tedious. "Now get out before this towel loses traction." Dante took a sip and pulled a strange face.

Bomb diffused. He'd live another day. "Goodnight, then. Thanks again for today."

The boy moved to leave. "You're leaving without a hug?"

He had just told him to get out; it could have been a ruse for the purpose of insinuating his need to inform him of the dropping towel. "Would you like one?"

"Would your conscience handle it if I died tonight?"

Dante had set his liquid embrace on a side table and his arms were already wide open in anticipation; Nero had no energy to resist, wrapping his bare arms around the naked back and letting his head be sucked into the warmth of his wide torso, and pulling himself deeper into his skin at the kiss on the crook of his neck. The demon had a knack for changing up what spot he attacked each night, and never had it failed to make his whole frame fizz from his toes all the way up to his crown, making him grossly fuzzy before he went to bed. It stayed with him well into the early hours of the morning sometimes, feeling like an idiot with a beaming a smile into nothing but pure darkness until the aesthetic faded into his dreams, granting him a good sleep and an even better morning after. The boy pulled away just enough to have his caregiver's face in his sights, going onto his tiptoes and placing the mildest of pecks on the hybrids lips. Before he became aware of what was happening it was over, the soles of his feet finding the ground widening the gap of their scalding mouths.

Dante remained where he was, baffled. "What was that for?"

He tended to forget his own rules sometimes. "You said I am allowed to kiss you within good reason." Now why would his brother do that? "Today should suffice for a few good ones in storage-"

"I wasn't ready; do it again." Way too eager, Vergil; for what was the longest split second in history, he thought Nero may have figured it out. "I won't tell if you won't."

Dante's hands were already at his neck, zealous breaths ghosting the boy's cheek. "The first one doesn't count then."

The demon shrugged as he dipped his head. Who was counting?

* * *

Vergil stared blankly out of his bedroom window when the three knocks woke him from his starry daydream, closing the curtain and answering the voiceless plea. He opened the door and stood back for a flustered Nero to enter the space, stopping one step in and handing his treat over. His brother wasn't such a fan of the stewing marshmallows so all he got was a tower of cream and a sprinkle of cocoa powder on top, trading the extra sweetness 'to add to the bitterness of his soul'. His words. The twin half-jogged to the boy, catching his stoic reflection in the mirror and hearing a snap inside his mind, completely clueless as to how Vergil handled his goodnights; he didn't have to think it through as Nero closed the gap and clutched him in a soft bear hug, burrowing into his neck and gripping the hem of his shirt in both hands. "I want you to promise me you'll answer this question seriously."

He couldn't be serious in the middle of a cuddle, regardless of the twin he chose to play. "Shoot."

He held the human at arms-length, trying to at least appear that way. "What's the deal with the pineapple?"

Like clockwork; he admittedly loved his brother's brain, the earlier sentiment popping into his vision the moment Nero crossed the threshold. Every bone in his body forced him to stay put, holding the boy in his hands and whispering into the space between them. "I think you should ask Dante what he means by that."

Oh, the precious irony that accompanied knowledge of precarious tropical fruit. "He's naked in his room. I didn't feel safe."

The hot breath tickled him at his neck, wishing he could still be apprehensive about responding to the open box of karma his brother had set aside for him. He absolutely couldn't believe the words were going to fall from his mouth, stroking Nero's hair for comfort like a forlorn kitten. "It changes the taste… of the bodily fluid that springs forth when… provoked in a sexual manner." Provoked? Was that the right word? "It makes it sweeter… for the person on the other end… Or yourself, I don't judge." The twin squeezed the tension bundled in his shoulders. "I think he chose pineapple because… he has substantial evidence to…" He looked straight over Nero's head, not because he wanted to but because he could, blowing strawberries into the air as he rested his chin on the top of his head. "I'm going to stop talking now."

Really, Dante? That was the best you could come up with? "Oh." It took a couple of seconds before it hit him properly, sour altering to sweet the more he chewed the nothingness in his mouth. "Just pineapple?"

"All fruit and fruity by-products, especially juice." He wanted to hang his head in shame, not guessing this would be the type of advice they would be giving to him.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, deep and husky like smooth peanut butter, confidently grazing his teeth along the pronounced Adam's apple and growling hungrily in the back of his throat; Vergil exhaled a shaky breath as his eyelids fluttered closed, concentrating as much as humanly possible to keep his demon at bay. The big hands at his shoulders naturally sunk elegantly down Nero's toned back, balling the material of his top into his fists to regain control over his psyche, pleading with his jellied brain to not rip the poor boy to shreds. The boy gave a satisfying grin to the twin's heaving torso; the subtle hastening of the mild echo in his chest was music to his young, inexperienced, aroused ears while his lungs struggled to contain the miniscule gesture that burned him from the inside out, gnawing at his stomach lining and tickling the bulletproof butterflies that were having immense trouble with the sudden change in their environment's temperature. Nero squirmed out of his powerful grasp, keeping his back toward the chaos he'd caused as he turned the handle to his bedroom door. "Enjoy the cocoa, Vergil."

He leaned back passed the door with a slight air of superiority, giving him a fatal once over along his entire frame with a dicey hint of a smirk, closing the door behind him as if it was a normal day in the office. The hybrid was fine but his demon was livid, his prominent shoulder blades shrouding in a wall of freezing skin under his white tank; Dante looked into the humungous mirror on his right patiently as his brother stared in return, his back morphing from the blue demonic scales that formed the invincible armour around his body to his human from, back and forth in confusion to the reactive stimuli left in Nero's wake. He closed his eyes and wiped his mind of the past near-fatal moments, seeing the blue supple skin toil in its distressed state and ultimately change to his shade of pale that matched the rest of his body. A pair of red glowing orbs served as the only hint of the skirmish, passing the boundaries of their allowed crease and primed to devour the next living thing that stepped through his bedroom door. He looked over his shoulder and saw steam radiating from his cocoa, chuckling with razor-sharp teeth at the goodness he so desperately needed to make it through the night.

* * *

He stuck his head out of his room door bothering not to be quiet; the twins slept like hollowed logs in the Amazonian jungle where only the forces of the super loud or supernatural were able to wake them from their uncorroborated slumber, their demonic souls taking a well-earned nap in the fiery pits of Hell until the sun tainted their human bodies and they were wrenched back into reality, living another day cooped to portray the other fifty percent of themselves while the humungous creatures inside them begged and pleaded to cut, scratch, tear, rip, bite, pierce, and shred their way to survival. Fortunately for them, their red and blue counterparts were exhausted from the quiet season, relishing a good old-fashioned vacation with the occasional check-up on their boys to make sure everything was okay, resulting in a more relaxing sleep for the two overworked bundles of wire mesh.

Nero fled from his room and climbed the single flight of stairs as quietly as he could, opening the bedroom door at the top in the same manner and seeing the sleeping form breathe deeply under his covers; shirtless, a piece of his black trunks on show with his right leg sticking out underneath, his mop of white hair fanned across his pillow. He did as he always did, following the instructions of the very man he was about to take advantage of, taking a soft seat next to the unconscious lower half: peeling back the covers, he located his alp of mayhem motionless under the offending cloth; the boy's stare digressed to the strong thighs on each side, running a finger along its powerful ridges until they converged into one glorious feature. Nero's disobedience knew no limit, rubbing on the length of the outline and feeling it swell in his grasp, breathing heavily as he pictured it inside him for the umpteenth time; he reached into his own pants as a gruelling smile led to a bite in his lower lip, pulling the half-limp organ free from its cotton prison and snuggling amid the pair of hearty legs. The tip of his penis found itself in the confines of the human's hot mouth, hardening by sheer force of will and the unnerving fact that the twin was close to his full awakening, sucking harder for a pair of frazzled blue eyes to gaze back – as it always did – until realisation kicked in and his head fell back into his pillow, a strong hand finding its way into his hair to equally soothe and scrape his scalp, measuring each constriction to how close he was at exploding into Nero's throat.

The twin groaned deeply, long and satisfied, at reality melding into his dream; his head switched from side to side, weakly hitting the mattress with a balled fist as he was slowly brought back out of his liquorice-trampolined dark twisted fantasy of sipping frosted cappuccinos in the fiction aisle of the main library. He and his brother ventured to the far back of the restricted section, watching from a distance the agony that was his pants being removed and his hips driven into the eager mouth, his limbs moving on reflex alone to dig into the silver strands to control his orgasm. The hybrid opened his eyes and did the same, gripping hard at the bobbing head that wished to satiate his hunger after a battle he'd lost as it begun; every inch of his body seared as his bloodstream switched lanes and clustered in one destination, now fully awake and about to pound his brother's mouth back to the afterlife. It was retribution at its finest – except for one thing.

He turned his head and looked into the mirror, bamboozled.

And then Dante looked down.

It wasn't Vergil.


	5. It's not what it seems

Vergil threw his head behind him as he arched his back, trying his utmost to bring Nero closer to him to pull him off his throbbing penis; he tugged and tugged with no give, his hands losing their entire grip as the rest of his body betrayed him to the furthest degree in enjoying the calamity that befell the area that needed the attention most. The boy went harder, adding a pumping hand into the mix, inching his sanity closer to the wondrous precipice that stood between him and the chasm of disturbing enchantment that would possibly haunt him… for a day or two. The younger found one last spurt of energy in his reserve, softly and commandingly jerking the boy from all his hard work to face him; with one arm around his neck and the other at his lower back, he held tightly onto his stretched frame, flipping him over to lie on his back and regaining command over the situation much to the shock of his aching member at the loss of contact. Nero brushed his hair back to admire the chaos he'd ignited as the other caught his breath, advancing with a soft hand on his straight jaw and light kisses down his neck. "I love it when you do that," he said, raising his head for an open-mouthed kiss as a distraction to his malicious clutch below; he made the mistake of moaning into the boy's mouth, welcoming a harder grip and a faster pace with only one exit in sight: the hybrid snatched his hand away and applied his full body weight onto the human, pressing him deep into the bed and lacing their fingers for the supplementary flair Vergil would have imposed, deftly holding every flailing body part under his jurisdiction for no more surprises. He saw lust and marvel stare into his soul, the most undaunted expression of determined passion sealing over his blue eyes before he condemned himself for the lacklustre despicable backdoor he was forced to take: diving into his reserves once more, he closed his eyes tightly and butted his forehead onto Nero's, draining the beautiful orbs of conscious life into an comatose mess, buying the correct amount of time he needed to set his mind in its rightful place away from any path that led to the conclusion should he not have knocked him out cold.

He reached into the drawer and drew out a night mask, gently putting it over his head and over his eyes until proper damage control was carried out. Dante bundled him in his arms, wedding style, kicking the door the rest of the way open and not being too hard on the steps that may wake the lifeless form before he could get him into bed. It seemed like the longest trip getting down ten steps, feeling slightly angry at himself for not seeing it from the beginning; his brother would have made sure there was nothing to see and eradicate suspicion before its onset, with hints poking their heads in plain sight known only to them and Dante would still have not known a thing. The sole way he would have found out would have been through a lucky accident like this, having no way of knowing the tables would have turned right faced down. His sibling wouldn't give a heads up either, so why was he feeling so distraught? Was it the fact that it went beyond a simple guess or that he had not noticed the subtle changes in both their relationships with Nero? Was he irritated at the manner in which he found out?

He'd have to bottle all the questions for another day, leading shoulder first into his room and setting him down gently on his queen-size bed, sublime and content under the hood of forced slumber with a guaranteed five minutes before he woke up. Dante felt the presence almost instantly, shimmying from under the large form and leaving his door slightly ajar to find his body leaning against the wall with his foot propped against it, bulging arms folded across his chest with a face smothered in poised apology; he assumed he'd heard everything, completely powerless as every second went by constrained to his bedside and abruptly killing the numerous gut feelings that told him to do all he could to protect Nero and their secret. Every interruption, every slip up, and every mistake pointed to him keeping the boy from saying something out of order, breaking them apart in instances they shared alone to steer the chatter to a different nucleus and away from the important things they would discuss as lovers. Vergil was messing up on purpose to keep him safe. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say that was what he wanted to tell me."

The elder finally looked to him with a face he hadn't seen in nearly two hundred years. "I'm certain it was."

He was crushed that he had no way of preventing what had happened. "Why couldn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to respect his wishes; it's not my story to tell."

Why did he have to be so kind-heartedly logical? "You didn't have to tell me the full story. You could have hinted-"

"How does one possibly hint at something like this?"

A good argument; it sucked that it had to make sense. "Was he scared to tell me?"

"That," he said, climbing off the wall to lean into the threshold, "and another long list of things he needed time figuring out."

Vergil stepped closer to him. "How long?"

Dante did the same, smelling the splash of Nero's scent on his chest. "Beginning of the year. Every night since then."

"Every night?"

"Sometimes twice when you go on jobs alone."

"But it's December…" He trailed off – did he really go this long without so much a clue at their secret kerfuffle? He should use the plural, not wanting to imagine how many times it would have been possible in the elapsed months. "Well, I feel like a complete ass."

"Don't. He doesn't know you know just yet."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did I not notice?"

Dante wasn't going to give him a pity party for two, hooking his index and middle fingers into his underwear without him noticing. "I'm a mastermind when it comes to sneaking around. I don't blame you." His right hand sat comfortably at Vergil's hip. "Nero was petrified of telling you, and I promised him you'd never find out on my end."

He did, but he didn't… but he also did. "Why didn't you stop me? With the talk."

He kept his head down, shifting his position until the night breeze stood no chance of separating them. "I did-"

"I know you did." Any way to not put the blame on himself for being a rotten sentinel would suffice; he couldn't imagine what he looked like to Nero, attempting to be in charge of a slice of his life he was already living to the fullest and becoming volatile under his own roof. "This was a really stupid way to find ou-"

His misery wasn't allowed to last long as the elder helped himself to slivers of skin, nibbling at the drooping shoulder and bringing it to full vigilance, pulling him closer at the hip and dominantly whispering into his ear, blowing cool air onto the freshly moistened shell. "You're hard, aren't you?"

"As a plain matter of fact, you are… dumbass." Was that meant to sting? His authoritative technique needed more practice, sounding more like permission to continue his sinful act and getting him weak in the knees rather than make him shiver in his slippers. "And don't try and change the subject." Everything that fell from his parched mouth negated his actions, falling into Vergil's favourite trap with his hand clawing at the back of his neck.

So much for leaving it for another day; he required a serious change of pace to keep their minds off the two elephant trunks in the room, true Vergil seeing Dante's head falling into the tiny gap between them catering to their problematic conditions. "I can help you out-"

"You dare touch me-"

"It'll be three minutes. Four if I'm really hungry."

Thankfully, there were two available before Nero woke from his hiatus from the truth. "I'll be the good guy and excuse myself from whatever this is." Vergil peeled his frame from his brother, planting a single kiss to his temple as minimal compensation for what would be a tremendously demanding night. "Don't be too vicious. He'll be out of commission for a good fourteen hours. And keep that thing over his eyes; I don't know what trouble we'd be in if he saw that gorgeous face and body dripping in liquid sex."

He turned to go back to his brother's room under the elder's watch. "Don't overestimate yourself."

The younger twin faced the doubting fool. "Don't underestimate my dick."

Vergil was tired at the halfway mark; were erections ever meant to be this painful? "Are you sure you're gonna be okay, Dante?"

It took too much effort to be nice, nodding deeply so Dante caught the gist of it. "I'll be fine. Really."

"I don't believe that."

"Why the hell not?"

The younger sensed the gesture behind him. "For one, my penis was staring at me. Two," another digit rose to the occasion, "my demon is crying; he's ready to rip another hole between someone's legs."

The penultimate step was so close. "Get your priorities in order, dammit; Nero comes first." There were so many other ways he could have said that. "Shit, don't-"

"Yes he does…"

He had to go there, didn't he? But who could blame him – he inhabited an unfiltered love machine unwillingly and couldn't be held accountable for the nonsense that spewed forth. He could get half the blame as he allowed his morality to move his mouth accordingly. "Please just go in there and do whatever you have to do. He's on a rampage."

Vergil watched his ass the entire way up the stairs as the door close gently – not hearing it lock, to his disbelief – hearing a soft plonk on the bed to support the new weight he'd have to get rid of before he could conjure the very thought of sleep; the elder harboured a disgruntled face, frowning as he childishly mocked his brother in a high-pitched tone. "And with that attitude, you can suffer trying to find my porn."

A vexed sigh. "I HEARD THAT!"

A calm giggle. "YOU WERE MEANT TO!"

Dante went into the room and locked the door as Nero's stirred from his brief sleep, moving his head from side to side in panic as a hand on his inner thigh pacified him; it moved to the opposite hip and dipped into his sweats, using his other hand on the opposite side to rid him of his pants and underwear in one swift motion. He took no time in straddling the boy, grinding on his naked erection and whimpering at the sensation of his shaft at the twin's clothed entrance, kissing him sweetly, pending their inner gods of destruction to take over and relieve them of their capability at insurmountable bliss.

 _I always get what I want, whether you like it or not._

* * *

Two glowing red eyes sat focused on the pages of a book, illuminated in the moonlight through the window and curtains he was too lazy to pull back; it was sufficient for a bit of light reading before he went to bed, wishing to curb his sexual thirst by the fictional blood and gore in his hands with no effect after one hundred and eighty three pages. Why Dante chose to pick up a book in the first place was reason on instinct, craving the plainness of a page-turner to bide his time and fill his readied subconscious with images of the dying as opposed to being between his brother's legs as he screamed blue murder at the top of his lungs, forcing his legs further apart buy the force of his thrusts, kissing those burning lips that dedicated themselves to vocally expressing the pleasure he was feeling, clawing at his neck as he drove his swollen penis into untouched depths inside him, his hands moving to his ass to push him in further-

He slapped himself on the temple to concentrate as the red lasers on the page in front of him deepened in colour, licking his lips to get rid of that delicious taste in his mouth for substitution of something fouler and preferably expired. One ninety four and still nothing, and as if on cue the bedroom door opened, not daring to look but betting his bottom dollar an identical face would stare back with satiated piercing blue eyes owing to the impolite sexcapades too soft for his sensitive hearing to enjoy. The twin stared at his brother in the natural light stemming from his window highlighting the gloom to his soft pale skin and naked chest and arms, flexing as he continued his reading; the sheets rode him at his hips covering a bend to his knee, hiding any giveaway of his wretched erotic condition; his two tufts moved as his reading shifted from one page to the next, pursing his lips at fighting the smell coming from his threshold. "What are you doing here, Vergil?"

Dante took it as reassurance to step from the shadows, walking slowly to his side of the bed. "I've come to help."

"I don't need it."

"Yes you do."

His eyes never left his novel, a strong hand moving along the entirety of his delectable body. "You can see for yourself; I'm perfectly fine."

He sat and shimmied closer, serene under the stress of his demon wanting to come out and play. "May I have a look?"

"You won't find anything you're looking for."

"I'll take my chances." He tapped Dante's legs over the blanket and he obliged, stretching them to not obscure his precious view; Vergil lifted the thin duvet and there it was, thick, full and ripened, veiny, and struggling to hold the murderous intent at bay, begging to be pumped for its heavy life to flow free at the hands of the only one who knew how. The organ sounded to him, like cutlery on a chalkboard in desperation to be touched and fondled with two hands at every angle, pleading to be accepted into the very mouth that dripped in want over the covers. It was so close yet so far, Dante's unwavering wall of obduracy in the way of his throbbing member getting the thorough treatment it deserves. "Well, whatdya know – that's exactly what I was looking for."

The warm air graced the upright tower of Pisa with a shaking breath as a response. "Pity you can't go near it."

"Pity you have no say."

At long last the book was closed and tossed onto the dresser; Dante couldn't bear looking into his eyes, knowing he'd see the same bright red glow that normally led to broken bedroom furniture and a few scratches along the walls – an insane asylum, if he were pushing his creativity. He turned to a stunned version of himself unable to look at anything but his erection, tugging at the cloth to resume his decency. "Vergil, I'm serious-"

There was no give; he was primed for the kill. "So am I. The least you can do is stay where you are while I suck the me out of you." The hunger on Vergil's face hardened the scrutinised member and coerced his legs further apart with his chest preparing for that same feeling to wash over him. No warning came as he lifted the covers for his entire body to squeeze between Dante's; his hand wrapped around his penis giving no caution to the wind, his face wreaking as much remorseful havoc as his kin would allow, thrusting tongue first into his mouth and working a unforgiving rhythm as a direct contrast to the slow agony below. "I won't be gentle, I swear. Your legs will be shaking, just the way you like it."

And so ended the short life of the solitary silver string of hope that was his carnal reluctance. "You drive a hard bargain."

They were in too deep and couldn't be stopped. "You can't resist me, brother." Vergil hit a crack in his headboard and embedded his clasp in the other twin's hair, peeling him from the wooden support and onto his knees endlessly injecting the last remnants of desire into the organ that was now twice its size. "I want you to fuck me first."

Vergil slunk further to the end of the bed, climbing on all fours. Dante took the opportunity to stretch his arms and letting them droop onto true Vergil's crown, smoothing the soft hair back for an uninterrupted view of his face. "Today really hurt."

He arched his back and looked up, the long eyelashes shrouding a look of corrupt virtue over every crevice of his features. "Let my tongue show you how sorry I am."

His body buckled at the relief of the supple mouth enfolding his tip, nibbling at the drops of cum that managed to escape him in his crusade to not fall victim to his brother's charm, thrusting his head back at the uselessness of his suffering; the elder prolonged the suction on the ripened tip, drawing spectacular groans from Dante that grew deeper the more he swallowed, stealing inch by inch of his penis into his throat until his soft lips kissed his base, swirling his tongue laterally on the member and all of its pronounced features. Vergil was in pure ecstasy, closing his eyes at every thrust he followed through on his stout limbs and generating a balanced cadence as a fitting introduction to true Dante taking ownership of the new lascivious restraint for the next couple of hours.

The kneeling twin began thrusting in tune, pushing forward on the heartbeat that his brother successfully regulated while holding him at his chin, brushing along the sinful jawline they shared and into his hair, massaging the roots as a telekinetic sign for him to stay still and allow him to fulfil Vergil's sole wish: he pressed down hard, leaning on the many knots and muscles on his clothed back, stopping at his hips to curl his grip downward in arching the hybrid's chest into the mattress; a mild squeeze to his ass afforded a feral moan like no other, sending a vibration from the depths of his throat straight onto the erection he suckled and meriting a hearty groan from the collapsing beast above who hissed between his teeth as a warning for the involuntary jerk to his pelvis. Dante, at last, placed his palms flat on the bed at either side of his brother's body, finding solace in the spongy leverage that would support his prodding body, fucking his own mouth like he would the region of his kin's lower body in a merciless tempo that saw no obvious destination any time soon, making the springs rock to their lust-trained actions. Vergil angled his head to the side encouraging him to go harder, his oesophagus nowhere close to the rawness he was hoping to achieve; the man above wouldn't dare not give him what he wanted, shoving his throbbing swell of untainted sex deep enough for it to protrude down his lean neck and have him claw at the pair of hips in front of him, so close and wanting the last dregs of whatever he had to sate the uneasy desire.

A lingering breath turned into a mellow, callous mewl as Dante fell against the headboard with fistfuls of hair in his grasp, keeping his penis locked into Vergil's constricting throat while the gravitational field shifted to a horizontal plane, utilising what strength he had left to push deeper and come forcefully, the liquid spraying into the willing tunnel and squirting a thick trail of his viscous orgasm all the way out of his mouth, holding his head at his twin's lips to drink what was his doing – the hungry demon swatted his hands away, taking care of business by his own hands, squeezing until his fingers met around the raging member and dragged upward, lapping at the loose ends that weren't strong enough to make it into his mouth. A tender, shaking hand raised the demon to his lips in a clement kiss, tasting the sweetened aftermath of their efforts. "You're cute."

A strange habit of theirs, a flurry of PG-rated kisses always followed an amazing blowjob, catching their bated breaths amid them picking up the pieces of their sanities nuzzling on one another's mouths. "What do you mean?"

"You really do think I'm done, don't you?" The younger body pushed his hard into the wood. "There are five of those at minimum, waiting to be plucked," he said, resting his moist forehead on the naked shoulder, licking at droplets of sweat from the younger's collarbone as a single, yearning digit dug into the trenches of his abs, ending just below his belly button.

Dante wanted to laugh, playing with the strands and scalp at his shoulder. "You can't be serious-"

"Have I ever joked about oral sex?" He didn't; a plain, simple truth with his heart on his sleeve, when it came to any matter involving parts below his belt he was resolute, unwavering in thought and deed with a distinct path to his goal that he reached every time, regardless of the other party's need to function in the days to come. Vergil kissed him sweetly, pecking down his dripping frame; the bugger knew what he was doing, biting at his inner thighs and bidding a chaste smile watching his erection with full attention, filling with blood the harder the bites became until he was appropriately hard to be played with. "Thought so."

The torture was quicker this time, sheathing the whole danger in one go that caused the younger twin to splinter the headboard behind him, hitting his head on the wooden slats countless times to hinder the stewing cry to aid his scorching body; Vergil retreated with a pop, moving further down the bed and pulling his thick thighs with him, flattening the hybrid's body into the mattress. He threw Dante's calves over his shoulders and snuck his hands under his physique, cradling the small of his back with an arch that opened his legs significantly wider, greeting the new day with personalised whimpers as another feature Vergil would drag out of him.

* * *

"CHIEF, NOW ISN'T THE TIME FOR A FUCKING POWERPOINT PRESENTATION!"

The Superintendent Chief Inspector was grateful for the few minutes of obedient silence while the technical team finished their work on the projector, connecting it up and flipping the lights for a more immersive, frightening experience: a man's face filled the entirety of the white wall, a normal mug shot on half the screen and either side making up the other half, holding his prison number in each of the pictures; he was dressed in prison-orange with close-cropped hair that would later be shaved bald, big brown eyes deadened by the obscenity in his soul, a sharp nose that smelled mischief in the next town, and a pair of dry thin lips attached to a huge neck and build that only a mother could love. His real name and origins were unknown, much like every other detail about him. The police knew him by his street name: Mr Contanza; a name connected to drugs, prostitution, and human trafficking, and a man whose only 'family' under his care could presently be bleeding to death on the expensive Persian rug in his lounge. He had claimed to be his uncle, passing no tests and walking home hand in hand with the teenaged stranger who would become his latest toy to beat and punish as he saw fit. Lars had taken a liking to the boy when he visited his various foster homes, ensuring he had a friend on the outside he could talk to if things got rough; nobody was more shocked to hear that a relative had fetched him after so many years, and after tracking him for months he had found the small apartment, hidden between dozens of bigger flats and houses that concealed its very existence if you had no idea where you were going. With a gift of three literary books in hand and a mandatory stop to congratulate him, his second and third knocks to the front door were hindered by muffled screams coming from the inside that stopped after the first. The detective banged on the door hard, controlling his anger and superhuman strength from breaking the door down and waited calmly for an answer by the ugly face that was previously described to him; three chain locks and a dead bolt moved, a mature voice asking another presence to be quiet. He knew that face would haunt his nightmares the moment the door opened plastered in a smile that could fool no one. "I heard this is a new home for one of my friends; is he here?"

Calm before the storm. Calm before the storm. "He's at school."

Lars would add 'dumb' to the small generated list of attributes. "It would have come out hours ago-"

"Practice," he said. "School's forcing kids to play sport these days."

Like! Fuck! He never went near anything that preposterous. "Oh, okay. Could you give this to him? It's just something small-"

"Sure. Bye now." The man took the books and shut the door.

Lars sat at the bottom of the steps waiting for the tiniest of noise or for him to come home, whichever came first. No luck in either. He staked the house for weeks, patiently waiting for a sign of any foul play, but he was dealing with a crafty madman who bruised the skin that were directly covered by pieces of clothing, leaving no explicit evidence to his crimes, and that all changed when his school had called the station and reported him missing for three days. The third day was today – more specifically the late afternoon – where the suspect in case was wanted for other various crimes in different cities and countries. The detective had enquired a security check on the bastard and the results were far from anything suited to take a child home. The chief watched the poor door swing on its hinges as he burst through, diabolically furious and encapsulating what every man in uniform was thinking at that moment. "Okay, so as you've read by your files we know very little about this man-"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU'RE ACTUALLY GOING TO IGNORE ME?" He was one of the calmest on the force; the most level-headed, intelligent pieces of work his colleagues ever had to endure. Feeling that serenity dispel from a simple phone call was terrifying, and the emotion in his voice could rival a father at the untimely loss of his son.

They left him out of the meeting for this purpose, which each party would live to regret further in their careers. "Is there something I can help you with, Lars?"

Who would have guessed? "Yes, I need to borrow a team to come with me right now-"

"You don't have the authority-"

"AND YOU DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING BALLS! AM I GETTING MY TEAM OR WHAT?" Lars was losing it – the men in the room knew he wouldn't get physical, but that didn't stop them from hiding behind flimsy sheets of white paper.

He could give whatever answers he had so far. "We're waiting for the warrant to enter his house-"

"WHEN YOU GET IT, HE'LL BE DEAD!" Lars made absolutely sure that last word echoed through the halls of the station, making grown men shake in their everyday best at the seriousness of the next few hours that looked like it would be wasted on pointless detail while a life was literally being drained somewhere on their streets. "I'll take the damn fall; I need a team to keep me off that fucking lunatic."

"You'll lose your badge-"

"FUCK THE FUCKING BADGE! I CHOOSE THAT BOY'S LIFE OVER THIS PIECE OF CRAP ANY DAY, AND I'D GLADLY SAY THAT FOR AS LONG AS I CAN, WHICH MEANS HE NEEDS TO STAY ALIVE!" The tears were beginning to burn in his cheeks. "That child means everything to me-"

"We know, Lars-"

"No you don't." His voice went softer, menacingly quiet, whispering to the goddess of fate to spare his life for he knows not what he does. "No you don't. You know nothing."

His boss sat back in his chair and discarded the file he was meant to discuss with his teams. "Listen, I can't give you the go-ahead-"

"I don't want one. I need what I came for." Lars looked to the floor unable to face anyone. "I don't need permission to save someone's life."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Other than punching him into the floor, nope."

That's was all he needed to say before every man stood, running quickly out of the room while the two captains remained, turning to one another and nodding heartedly at the cause placed in front of them. "You're insane if you think you'll take all the credit for this."

They all left to follow their teams in collecting their weapons. "I wish this was for credit."

Lars and the chief's eyes locked for ten seconds too long. "When I ask you to turn in your badge, I ask that you do so breathing and with all your limbs attached, please." Lars laughed; it would be the last for a long time. "Don't lose your cool and go full demon on him; I would hate to fill out the paperwork for every separate piece that's brought back."

The captains all lined up at the door and awaited instruction, earpieces and shiny arsenal ready for gory, bone-crunching business. "If I'm right, there won't be anything to bring back."

Lars and his Alpha and Beta henchmen left quick as a flash, leaving him alone with the picture of the face that will soak into the town's already questioning criminal history. "That works too."

Three police cars parked along the curb at the park on the opposite side of the complex, quietly sneaking up on the unsuspecting public that had no idea about their mission nor the dangerous man that had weaned into their safe environment. The heavily padded men snuck out if their three trucks and collected at a bench on the outskirts of the park with very few citizens drawing attention to their arrival. Lars merely waved at the passers by – the universal code for 'the guy doesn't know we've come for him yet so act as natural as possible' – and walked to the men who had collected at his favourite bench.

Lars was an angelic image placing his earpiece in his ear, tucking the growing hair of his previous undercut behind the device for the rest of his team to do the same to check the communication line; he tapped his mic attached to his double-breasted trench coat a few times, getting a nod from his uniforms in confirmation; they were anticipating his annoying habit of blowing directly into the mic to see their ghastly reaction as a final check if any of them were lying, doing a sharp one to lighten the gloomy mood that hovered over them the whole six minute car ride to the run-down area that would make headlines for the next two weeks at most. The twelve-men team, thirteen including Lars, stood in a circle under the backdrop of the setting sun looking like the Blu-Ray cover of Hawaii 5-0 with extended behind-the-scenes footage with some of the classiest and most qualified soldiers and their captains led by a mohawked criminal turned mastermind by the system, seeking some form of redemption in leading some of the best soldiers into a personal battle he either had no control over or wouldn't make it alive without them – truth be told, it was both: their target was unpredictable given his long list of felonies each with its own set of complicated actions and reactions to being brought under fire out of the blue which would mean they'd be going in completely blind, no plan or escape route and heavily reliant on the skillset of each individual man that have been honed and perfected in the ten plus years they have been on the force. It was a gamble doing this unofficially, but the two teams stood behind him every step of the way, respecting him as an officer and his decision to not play by the rules to save the life of someone dear to him and knowing he'd do exactly the same for them, pulling the strings that needed to be pulled for his men regardless of the consequences he faced as being a higher-up in the rankings.

Lars couldn't give a fuck about his job; he loved it very much, but he loved Nero more, choosing the teen's future over his any day should the task be a success. He'd deal with the aftermath later, already working out a plan in his head the instant he heard the report from the school. "This is a standard retrieval mission: the house consists of a lounge through the front door, a main bedroom connected to it on the left and an adjoining bathroom. I believe there is one man in that house along with our golden egg, and I honestly have no idea what is happening as we speak. Team Alpha, I need you unseen on the outside at every possible exit – window, door, sinkhole, you name it – ready to pin the tail on his ass should he flee the scene; team Beta, I need you to enter the house quietly through the front and secure the location of the boy. If they are both in the lounge I want you to do your best in pinning down the suspect who is now branded into your subconscious. If they are in the main bedroom I need you to confirm that as well but take no further steps. I will follow through the cleared space and secure the boy, and I need five men to follow me and grab the bastard off whatever the fuck he's doing. Don't touch the boy, just get that asshole away from him. Deadly force is authorised, but as we know I'm not a fan of a quick death in these situations, so give him a good shot to the leg if he squirms too much. No fatal shots, because only then would our jobs be on the line. I will escort the boy to the hospital and be back to help with the cleanup-"

"You don't have to, detective. I've informed team Delta we'll need them for data and evidence collection and are a call away, sir!"

Lars took a deep, thankful breath for captain Beta tagging alongside him and Alpha – not only were they practically invincible side by side, but the mix of Beta's brain and Alpha's brawn was the most potent on the entire island, and that was definitely an achievement given the jurisdictions that were neutralised for their expert skills. If this were truly his last objective he'd want to go out with a bang – preferably a shotgun shell between the eyes, but beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to being an ethical law enforcer. "That makes things much better – thank you for your initiative, captain." He turned back to his squad that had wrath strewn in their souls and red blood cells flowing through their bodies, holding their specialised Colt M4 carbines close to their chests as they mentally prepped for a mini war that had sent their superior into a frenzy. "Let's try and do this quietly so he shits his pants, hey?" They shared a laugh; a genuine one. "Are there any questions?"

Captain Alpha had to. "What if he tries something clever?"

"He isn't that smart. If he does, then you can shoot him in the head; he grows the brain cells to pull that off after what he's done, he deserves to die. I'll make sure to report that it was my doing. I'm a doomed man anyway. Any other questions?" Their earpieces were silent. "Please understand that I'm pro-life, so anything to avoid his worthless blood on your shoes would be unpleasantly great. Does everyone understand?"

"YES SIR!"

The chant echoed to his brain and it was absolutely glorious; it had been years since the last time he'd led a team this big and it was so nostalgic – although he would rather forget the hostage situations he was previously in charge of, it made him feel part of the team that slowly deteriorated when he became a stand-alone detective, not really wanting the job but promoted behind the scenes and just going with the flow with no good reason to not take it. His heart unhurriedly adjusted to the new position that allowed his brain to do most of the work. "Fantastic; now let's catch that piece of garbage cock-ramming ass-blasting bitchloid!" Oh, the wonderful world of sharing a house with a sibling – that was the tamer of the things he could be called. "I have a younger brother – forgive my language."

They crossed the busy street quickly and Lars stood alone on the side walk while half the large team positioned on every second alternative step, making a zigzag patter up the stretch of staircase leading to the criminal's front door; the other half formed a perimeter around the small flat muzzle first at any and every possible means of evasion, clicking the safety off to blow the man to the Bermuda Triangle. The detective had the captains at his shoulders as he walked straight through the middle of the staircase, being handed a pair of normal square-framed spectacles and clicking the button on the right temple to turn on the camera feed of the two giants kneeling at the main lock, already making quick works of the chain locks he'd heard at his first visit. "I think they're in the main bedroom sir. I'm hearing muffled voices but the first room is empty."

He slipped on his marksman gloves he'd received as a gift from Dante; knuckles, index finger and thumb exposed to the open air, flexing the leather to his hand as he tied the three Velcro straps on his wrist; he took a moment to grasp the ring hanging around his neck, taking a deep breath before tucking it under the collar of his white shirt. "Definitely not the bathroom?"

"There'd be an echo. And there's a huge shadow moving under the bedroom door."

He was beyond impressed. "You got that all from a keyhole?"

"That's why they call me Bugs, detective." The men stood and made way for the foremen of the team to take the lead. "Door's open-"

"Boss! Can you hear me?" A deep voice reverberated in their ears, calling from close by given the clarity of the communication. "Detective?"

"Loud and clear. What's going on, bud?"

He cleared his throat. "The bedroom door has four deadbolts on it, so I doubt David and Goliath would be able to get through by unlocking it normally." Deadbolts? This man is insane. Not wanting to be interrupted for what reason? He was sicker than they'd ever guess. "It won't be a problem for you at all though."

Lars screwed his silencer on the Glock 41 he wouldn't need to be using. "Are you telling me I'm going to have to go demon on this fucker?"

The unbelievable feeling of having twelve fully grown men innately smile at such a ruthless notion warmed his heart; very few had seen the concealed form and the rumours that made their way along the multiple grapevines had intrigued the entire station for the whole other creature he became when his heart rate spiked and blood boiled to two hundred and seventy five degrees Celsius. He had once made a snarky comment that he was thankful they made it out alive, judging the blast radius and damage to the city he was probably still paying off. "No no no no no, we have him; we need you to fry those bolts."

Okay, so he'd officially go out with a bigger bang than he'd assumed. "Copy that."

Lars stood back in an adjacent small concrete pocket as the bigger men sauntered through the open door to clear the first room, moving like weightless ghosts to not arouse the hunk of disgust who was shifting hastily across the room beyond their reach; Bugs and Goliath were able to count the bolts through the narrow gap of the threshold, nodding to the two captains and reversing into the farthest back wall with their firearms aimed at the bedroom door. The other uniforms stepped into the foul-smelling abode forming a paint splash design in the lounge with a hole in the centre for when the criminal was ultimately removed and apprehended in three pairs of handcuffs on the tightest, most uncomfortable setting. True to his word, the detective decided to not walk to the door with full knowledge he made an entrance at every opportunity, flashing across the space and directly in front of the door hovering over the gap to keep suspicion to a minimum. The team took a collective gasp at the raw power they could feel at any distance, utterly terrified that he would lose control and blow the place and its contents to particles smaller than dust; he did the sensible thing and turned the safety on his weapon, needing nothing else but a hard push from his flaming combat boot possibly obliterating the whole wall faster than the idiot could realise the ambush in his own home. They heard it before they saw it: an extraordinary gust of wind flowed upward from beneath the demons feet as he morphed to half his true form, lifting his leg with no effort and destroying the door and the door only, melting the industrial strength deadbolts like a butter knife through flan, the shrapnel flying inward at the revolting figure bending on his haunches, holding a freshly-made bowl of oatmeal that he was feeding to a mass of grey tape in the shape of a child sitting in an upright foetal position. The standing figure in black flames stood to the side while the officers stormed the room, one booming voice grabbing the culprit by his collar and another four grabbing each limb, dragging him out of the room with the bowl still in his hands. "You will come quietly."

The animal struggled to no avail, dropping the mush face down onto the floor making a stain on the browner carpet. "He doesn't wanna eat."

"Doesn't mean you have to shove it down his throat."

"If I'm going to slave over a stove, he's going to eat it-"

"Is that so?"

The man turned to the voice. Mistake one. "Who the hell are you?"

Mistake two. "Your worst fucking nightmare if you don't shut up."

The sight of the fangs caused his nauseating follow up comment to get stuck at the bottom of his not very active lungs; his human eyes grew larger as they did a full-scale double take of the demon in his inhumane form: he resembled a powerful, dark king you just didn't fuck with; his hair and coat flaring in a million directions; his facial features sharpened to the heavenly angles of delicious Hell; his intimidating build bulking with each dooming thought of the filth daring to speak to him; and lastly his eyes, soaked in despair and pure hatred, pitch black to reflect the forgiveness in his heart, and empty like the conscience on a Sunday morning – the look of a broken heart successfully mangled with death closer than a mere doorstep looked inside the room where the smell hit him first, waiting two seconds to hear the beating heart of the duct taped boy before rotating on his heel with a black, sharp, hungry claw digging his nails in the man's neck. "This is police brutality-"

"The police are keeping you alive." The muscles in Lars' hands constricted like a separate entity, having a hard time controlling his wrath and at the same time wanting to get as much of a message quickly across to the repelling glob of skin that was leaking at his mouth and his eyes, looking behind him once again at their golden egg who was definitively calming down. "If it were just me, who knows where that porridge may have ended up."

A toothy, yellow grin topped off his first impression. "That's no threat-"

"I don't intend for it to be. You should be glad you're still…" he squeezed tighter, digging his dark rough skin for five perfect punctures on the stubby, fat thing holding his abnormally small head, "…fucking… breathing-"

"Lars?" The voice from the other room was small and trifling, scared, hopeful, and youthful as the day they had met on accident. "Lars, is that you?" Each syllable plucked at his heartstrings one by one, forcing him to soften the grip around the animal's neck; four words reduced him to a scrunching mess of bubbling fury and soft eyes, the black irises taking their everyday colour before he approached one of the more important individuals of his entire being. "Please tell me it's you."

He so badly wanted to rip his spine to shreds as he should have, but the need to be at Nero's side outweighed any act of violence from the demon. "And stay in tune for tomorrow's episode. He's just saved your worthless life." The detective ran to into the despicable room to his side, placing a warm hand on what was meant to be a shoulder hidden under a double layer of grey tape; it felt like he hadn't had a proper meal in months, and even the aura around him was scrawny and undernutritioned, drained of life and love for who knows how long he was sitting in that awful position. The only areas left untouched were his ears with a few white strands tucked behind the paling blue cartilage, making it increasingly difficult for the child to draw breath. The sensory deprivation was the last straw, and Lars tried his utmost to not rely on his power for quick relief of his bounds and opted for the slow methodical tactic in getting the sticky stuff of his shrinking frame. He, however, had no regrets ripping the tape off his mouth for his lung's sake, hearing a precious deep shaky breath a few inches to his right. The detective now took his time with the single strip over his eyes, making small incisions with his claw at the boy's temple and pulling slowly from right to left, eyebrows and eyelashes attached – thankfully – to see those two mesmerising watery blue eyes blink as if seeing for the first time, saddened by the missing firework exhausting its fuse with the stress and anguish if he were to ever function as a normal human again. Upon seeing Lars' pale handsome face, he instantly reached out for his touch, holding the plastic stump that was his hand heatedly keeping his emotions behind the prison bars of his own subconscious. "Bathroom," he said, barely audible under how much he strained his body to utter the word. "Now."

There was no time to be careful, given the general definition of 'now': he got down on his knees and picked him up as is, a strong arm at his back and another sliding through the gap to cradle the back of his knees, moving hastily to the sole closed door to the right of the double bed and kicking it open, angling the oncoming beige liquid projectile just in time to reach the equally dirty toilet at the far side; the amount of oatmeal that came from him was triple his body weight, the bile flowing from him at such sheer force that he struggled to take breaths at the continuous, unyielding rejection of nutrients. Lars rubbed along his spine and added some pressure to the motions, urging every bit of the horrid breakfast and probably the only thing he'd been fed for the time he was fastened to himself out of his growing stomach; he couldn't bring himself to look at the suffering form kneeling on the ceramic bowl, using strength seemingly plucked from the air to anchor onto the forearm snuggly across his chest. After two minutes of watching the cereal leave his body, the teen took some moments to gather himself, smiling at the prospect of the circumstances that led to him being suspended over a toilet bowl wrapped in industrial-strength tape from the top of his head to his toes. "So, how are you?"

The boy was too kind for his own good, dragging the attention away from his dire situation to something attune to their daily talks they had when Lars made his weekly visits to the orphanage. "I'm great; how are you?"

He was a terrible liar, but he couldn't keep the grin from his face, continually massaging the boy to ultimate calm. "If you're great, then I'm great too."

"Don't lie to me. You're not great."

"I'm not." The boy took a few deep breaths relishing the simplicity of the oxygen now entering his boy. "I'm really not."

There was no way he was inhaling to his full capacity; his ribcage expanded to the allowed rigidity of the tape, holding his body stiff as Lars transferred him to the bath and sat him at the end closest to his earlier perch. "Would you mind if I took these off? I need your blood to circulate before we can take you anywhere."

He left his side for a brief moment to turn on the light getting a better look, only now seeing crusts of blood on both sides of his mouth; two small auburn blobs on the corners of his fatigued skin glared at him as the eyesore they were, burning against his pastel skin like a dying rose amid melting snow on a freezing Winter afternoon, the sun lowering behind puffs of orange clouds setting on the bad potentials awaiting a brand new day. The boy plainly shook his head staring at the black rubber plug in the tub. "No, but…"

His hands balled under the grey matter, propelling Lars to morph his claw and cut the material at the stubs, freeing the bloodied inflamed digits as the scabs were ripped off with the strips wrapped around each individual finger and then over a scrunched fist to defer the possibility of circulation. "But what?"

The demon studied his bare limbs carefully, the answer flickering a black light on an inconspicuous canvas as guiltless as the pair of blue eyes blinking through his own tears that finally flowed freely after all the agony of the past few days. "He… he cut me…" Flexing his fingers his wounds began to bleed more, lacing his fingers to deter the stream of his very life force; Lars folded his scorching hands over the flesh cauterising every cut on the exposed skin. "Please be careful." He would be as careful as treating a baby deer and it would still hurt gravely; as far as his expertise took him, the only avenue worth trying to heal the vast injuries would be Vergil. The boy turned them over for the first time, wincing at the long streak of brown down his right arm that the tape had soaked up; so this was what happened when you lost your temper without owning a first aid kit. "There's a really bad one here..."

He began swaying on the walls of the bath utilising too much of his reserve energy, almost hitting his head against the porcelain as Lars moved just in time to catch him and lay him down, slicing the pieces sticking him in position and stretching his legs slowly but surely to encourage blood flow. The demon was composed, concentrated in his efforts to keep him breathing despite the futile attempt at taking it away. How was he alive? Situations like these were enough to send a teen into dilapidating shock that blood loss was last on the list of things to worry about. He didn't know the full story, but if there were any a time to trust his instincts it would be now. "Sit tight. I'll get you some water."

The human was struggling against his better judgement of not being left alone, but he was thirsty; anything to get the taste of the ghastly porridge mixed with stomach acid out of his mouth. "Please."

Trust him to not forget his manners. Lars left the bathroom and walked to the kitchen miraculously uncovering two bottles from the fridge, passing the now bleeding target rolled into a ball of his own filthiness; the creature was unworthy of looking after such an asset in his own right, a child facing a corrupt society with nothing more than a knit scarf to his name and a presence that never failed to make you grin, pushing your hardships aside in favour of the nurturing smile of the brilliantly smug devil he knew he'd grow into. Well, he was biased, who could blame him? As a rookie of the Chief who was a mere captain at the time, he was sent out to do rounds around the city, searching for little criminals of petty theft who deserved a stern talking to before escorting them home for a harsher scolding accompanied by a spanking and an offer to stay for coffee. He'd turned down every request, except for one: after doing his rounds one day and getting caught in the rain – demons love it considering the fiery pits from which they spawned – an old woman had once opened her doors and extended the welcome to shelter him until the rain stopped; Lars couldn't find it in his heart to decline so he made his sodden, muddy way over to the small house. He could still remember the smells coming from the kitchen as the lamb stew came to a boil and fresh bread were pulled out of the oven ready for an early dinner; the old lady heaved at a pair of double doors that led to the main hall where he saw thirty or so kids eating happily in bundles spread across the floor, with the exception of one kid eating alone by himself in the far right corner sitting against a heap of thin mattresses. "Rice or bread?"

'No thank you' hadn't presented itself as an option. "Bread, please."

She waved to the room. "Find yourself a seat. We'll bring it to you shortly."

"Thank you."

She went behind a big oak door and Lars took the least occupied path to the opposite end of the room, sitting on the hard wall a few feet away from the boy, facing the same direction and out of his sight. His food was brought to him in a bigger and deeper dish with three rolls steaming with the cold. "If you want another, feel free to come to the kitchen." He nodded his head in deep thanks, earning a few smiles from the kids in every general direction. He smiled back and the little girls grinned with spinach in their teeth, happy to add their silent two cents to the conversation no one was having.

Lars tucked into the food, keeping a close eye on the sharp corners of the stacked beds. He would show his face, wouldn't he? Psychology suggested the highest amount of intrigue in a growing child relied on seen stimuli placed out of reach, but not too far to lose interest in the marshmallow-flavoured rainbows of their imaginations. Sure enough, a pair of deep blue eyes peaked at the corner, pointlessly hiding a mop of white hair that made him stick out like a sore thumb. The boy had no intention of concealing his appearance but rather stared at the cop for quite some time until he was acknowledged, only then scooting to the adjacent sponge with his meal on two plates. Bread. Just like him. "You like bread?"

Lars nodded, tearing a piece off and dipping it into the sauce. "More than rice, yes."

"Everyone else has rice, except me."

"You don't like rice?"

"I love rice, but they put effort into making it for us so I will choose the bread over the rice." He copied the police officer in grabbing a piece of the baked goodness, soaking the sauce in a spiral around the plate to clean every dreg of his food. "I also hope there's enough for the rice crispies in the morning. Everyone else has corn flakes."

He was unequivocally in love with the boy. "What's your name, kid?"

The orphan shrugged his shoulders, struggling to shove the roll into his small mouth. "I don't have one. But everyone calls me Nero."

The emperor of fuckery. Nice touch. "That's a great name. It suits you."

"Thank you very much." He jabbed at the meat with his fork, spilling it into smaller pieces to mix with the corn and potato. "What is yours, officer?"

"Lars. And don't call me officer, it creeps me out."

"But that's what you are."

"Not yet. And when I do become one, I hope you won't call me that."

That meant he was going to visit more. "You catch any bad guys today?"

"Just one." He playfully looked around apprehensively and the boy moved closer, thinking it was a secret he couldn't yet spill to the general public; Nero loved secrets, especially if he had to keep them and they belonged to someone else. "I'm eating dinner with him as we speak, what are the chances?"

"I'm not a bad guy. The nice ladies here call me misunderstood."

Lars would go a step further in the description that the other kids were just donkeys waiting for a Thursday night. "Do you know what that means?"

He shrugged again, stuffing his face with some broccoli. "Not a clue. I tried to ask my teacher but she used bigger words that I haven't learned yet. I only have until the end of the year to find out; there's no more money for me to go anymore." The pair ate in silence for another two minutes hearing girly laughter across the room disgruntled boys arguing over the fastest remote-control toy car, which he noted that none of them had any idea what they were talking about. 'It's fast because it's pretty' said one boy; 'it's the fastest because it's wheels are bigger' said another, and Nero took no notice of the typical boyish talk, focused on eating his supper and chewing each mouthful thirty two times. "Do you have a wife, Mr Lars?"

Did he really look adequately handsome to constitute human practices? "No, unfortunately not, but I do have a boyfriend."

His face lit up like a Christmas tree in September. "A boyfriend? Like… like you, but a different person?"

Lars had no clue what he meant. "Yes, Nero. What you just said."

He sounded like he hit the jackpot. "You should bring him over and introduce us."

"And why is that?"

"I have a feeling he'll love me."

The man couldn't believe his ears. "My goodness, how old are you again?"

"I'm five. I was told to never ask about age, so I won't ask." Nero had a nifty half smirk across his face. "But can I guess?"

What was there to lose? Historians have been guessing his age for centuries. "Sure."

"You're twenty three."

Multiply that by a couple of hundreds and he'd be spot on. "Twenty two."

Nero hit his knee, irritated but chuffed at how close he'd gotten. "I was close."

"So your superpower is counting wrinkles, is that it?"

The boy went back to his meal, talking with his mouth full. "What on earth are wrinkles?"

The rest was history: he'd beg for the daily rounds after achieving higher ranks, never missing a single day to visit; he would occasionally bring snacks for the kids on his ventures, sometimes candy or vegetables if mother hen needed, and move to that very same spot and have mind-boggling conversations that effectively blew the boy's mind. He had never thought to worry about him for any moment until the orphanage had told him a family had collected him; he had also done sufficient research to know that he had no living relatives, and that was where the alarm set off.

And now, he'd be able to grant him the sole request asked of him eight years ago.

Bottles in hand, he directed his attention to the two captains at Mr Constanza's shoulders, dangling their guns downward with their fingers on the triggers in case he ignored their warning and moved an inch. "I'm not gonna take him to the hospital. He's coming home with me. Take this asshole to the station and tell the Chief EVERYTHING; it was little but it's enough for him to build a case."

Captain Alpha was always a smart mouth. "Even the part where you powered up and made us all pee a little?"

"Even that," he said, giggling at the thought that the most intimidating men in their town didn't know that his devil form was nowhere close to the worst thing six hundred feet below. "I need to get some colour in him before we can move. Tell your guys outside they're free to go-"

"I did. Their response was 'as per protocol we will keep the citizens at peace until the detective leaves'." He had to ask the question for all their sakes. "Boss, is he going to be okay?"

He was, but regaining his spark back was going to take some time. "Are you kidding? He's stronger than I am. Besides, my brother has been waiting to make some chicken soup for a long time now." Shit! How was Hanson going to react to bringing him home? "Tell the Chief the report will be on his desk tomorrow and that he can call if he needs me."

"No worries, sir. He asked me to tell you that you can take as much time as you want and just let him know."

Lars nodded. "Fine. I'll take a day."

"You'll find a place for him in a day?"

"I already have a place in mind." The day had begun to look up and his breathing became lighter. "You guys have no idea how much I appreciate the help-"

"We do. Don't get soppy on us now." Captain Beta kicked the form sprawled on the carpet. "There's a nice face here that needs a bit of improvised adjusting."

They went out of their way to give it nice words it didn't deserve; if it were up to him, the man on the floor would have no face left. "I can't cause harm in front of commanding officers."

They looked at one another. "You can't," they said simultaneously, whistling an off-key tune and rotating to the window behind them. "One punch won't kill him!"

"Yeah, come on; give me your best shot." The creature had to speak, didn't he? Offering his two cents for the disfigurement of his own face.

"You have not earned the right to speak to me." He set the bottles down and was pumped, with absolutely nothing stopping the eminent action, shifting a quarter of his power to his left fist and transforming into a worse version of the petrifying yet magnificent black claw set to its highest level of impact. "But if you wish-" The split second between his words and the punch were the last moments the criminal would have a normal face: it hit his nose first, pushing the small bone far in and up into his skull; both cheekbones stood no chance in walking from the blow unscathed; the room of his mouth cracked into three pieces and flew upward, further lodging into the ruptures of the eradicated cheekbones that were there a second ago; the front of his skull in its entirety was pushed back, breaking the clip attached to the lower jaw and snapping it in two places, disconnecting the lower half completely. His eyes sunk with its supporting structure destroyed, screaming blue murder that echoed around his living room and down the street; the flabby man tried to move onto his feet for a chance at backlash, but the extreme blood loss made him dizzy, falling onto his back as Lars wiped his bloodied knuckles on his shirt and grabbing his delivery, swiftly sauntering out of the room for his captains to call the ambulance in their own time.

He returned to the bathroom and hurriedly uncapped the first bottle, surprised to see Nero standing on his own pulling the final bits of tape off his hair; he now understood the meaning of the smaller strips under the outer layer, assuming they were the makeshift Band-Aids that he had covered over the cuts. Some of the bruises were healing well and others not so much, fresh purple growing under his pale skin; his youthful grimace said it all, tussling with the adhesive stuck to his silver locks. "What are you doing?"

"You took too long," said the boy, angrily pulling in every direction in rushing to get the godforsaken stuffs of his body. Tears burned his eyes at the last pull as he chucked it next to him, tired and empty with no more fight to give; it hurt Lars in the depths of his condemned soul to see his slice of life turned into the sombre child in the bath, his tears staining the tiled floor before looking square into his caring moss-green orbs and bawling into his chest, clutching at the softness of his coat. Nero shrieked into the material, sending heart-breaking vibrations through every fibre of his being at the emotion that was finally coming out, taking a moment for the unadulterated anger and reprieve to escape the miniscule voice box that had been doffed of its dignity. His weak frame melted into the demon, holding on what he could for the warmth and comfort he had been denied for thirteen years, clenching his fists in pure torment of where his intuition took him should he not have been rescued; the boy he knew was miles away from the shaking frame standing in front of him, meek and insignificant and a mere shell of the potential he had seen fostered into him so long ago. He was bare, a void hollowed of everything that made him special and left with the basic minimum of what he was – a child who deserved nothing but to be loved and cherished to the edges of the earth and back.

Lars dropped the water and encased his naked body as gently as he could, knowing the tape an inefficient mask to pain adopted for its aesthetically unpleasing cover of the true horror underneath them; he snaked around his waist and into his hair, holding as tightly as his rage would allow. "Only one of us needs to stay strong, so just… just cry, okay?" He dug deep in his pockets for his square rimmed sunglasses to hold his crazed, uncontrollable, teary stare out of view, weeping with the boy in pure relief that he could grant him a future he so desperately deserved. Lars had never seen him cry, and hoped to all things holy he'd never see or hear it again. "Let it all out, Nero. I'll never let anything happen to you ever again; do you hear me?"

Nero plainly nodded through the pain. His body couldn't afford any more.

* * *

"HANSON!"

Lars ran heavy up the metal steps to their shared apartment, praying the door was unlocked and that his brother was home. There were easily a million things he should have done and not rushed to get the boy home, but ever since he left the derelict house and Team Delta stormed in he was running on fumes; Nero had passed out on his chest and he was unable to wake him, snapping into protective mode in grabbing a thin blanket off the bed and wrapping him to preserve his decency, hurrying out with the green bundle cradled safely in his arms and turning into a dead, dark alleyway where he could take flight without any curious eyes, breaking through the clouds to conceal himself during the day and landing safely at the back door of Love Planet.

"HANSON!"

One out of his two wishes came true, turning the brass handle at his front door and entering seamlessly into the abode, nudging the door closed with his heel and calibrating the bale to something far more comfortable for the human. The demon peeled back some of the blanket to look at his face, now almost blue, a rhythmically slow heartbeat continuing to pump his blood to every reach of his small frame; his breaths were too shallow but at least they were breaths, and Lars frantically looked around the home for any sign of his sibling.

"ELIGOR!"

He hadn't been happier to see his face pop at the patio door, nearly tripping over the metal grate that held the glass in place. "I just heard over the news-"

"Please help him."

No questions asked, his younger brother jogged with his arms extended to the coarse bundle; Lars handed it over and gave him the space he needed, standing at the kitchen counter to await any instruction from the primary caregiver of the house. Hanson knew all there was to know about treating injuries for the demonic and not-so-demonic, having everything taught to him by the master himself; Vergil was a great one lesson teacher and he was a willing one lesson student, thinking the field may come in handy in his chosen line of work. "Could you fetch a thicker blanket? He's freezing." In the heat of the moment he could understand his brother's actions, fully aware he seldom lost his calm in similar – and possibly worse – conditions; his actions now spoke volumes to the processes flowing in his jumbled brain, under pressure to succeed on a wish he'd do his utmost to fulfil. Lars came armed from the spare bedroom with the best tool for the job as Hanson unwrapped the sleeping boy out of the bad and snuggling him into the new, using the softness of the material as an extra stimulus to wake him. "What is all this?"

"I actually have no idea why it was done and I don't want to find out." He moved his sunglasses to his head, leaving the deep crimson of his eyes to do whatever damage they pleased; his brother would be the last to fall for the party trick. "The idiot didn't keep any weapons around, so I assume this was done with a kitchen knife-"

"Not this one," he said, supporting his body for his right arm to come into view. It was still tightly wrapped and neither went near any attempt to remove it. "This one looks a tad worse, but we can fix it." He tucked the damaged arm back in place against his ribs, tucking his form like a squelchy burrito and holding him at his broad chest, transferring the warmth necessary to get the human's eyes to flicker open and sate the grown man's legs that were twitching across the room. "He's going to be fine, Lars."

"I know; he's in your hands." He was calm enough to remove his bulletproof vest and tie, opening the button at the top of his collar with deep breaths and retrieving the necklace, twirling the ring between his fingers.

"Does he know?"

Lars shook his head with his tongue in his cheek. "I didn't tell him anything."

"I think you need to talk to him; you're in a state."

"I'm fine, I swear." His eyes couldn't bring themselves to leave the muddle of blankets in his brother's arms, keeping his ears strained on the tiny heartbeat that grew stronger and seeing the smallest of movements tremble under the fluffy cover. "I'll be better when he's better."

Hanson went along with his logic, too fascinated with the juddering teen in his arms. "The second he wakes, I'm going to need you to run a bath for him. These things need to come off before it gets infected." Like his brother, his stare was glued to his well-being, now on the edge of his seat to see the boy full of life and live up to the wonderful reputation Lars brought home after his night shifts. The elder had his right leg crossed over the other, leaning into a propped left fist, his mind miles away from the present and solely focussed on the boy's recovery. "Why are you so far away? Sit closer. Talk to me."

"I'll be in the way-"

"He will be able to feel your presence, Lars. He needs you now; be here for him." He scooched to one side and made some space to his right, fluffing the cushions and tapping him into the inviting area with a cute expression. "I don't mean to sound insensitive, but now I can finally make some chicken soup."

Dante's 'special' recipe, which was Vergil's recipe. Lars did as he was told, unable to resist the double dose of cuteness; he abandoned his uncomfortable post and settled closer to them, the pair feeling the undeniable heat radiating from his soul as his hand circled his sibling's shoulder, pressing up his neck and digging into the knots that had undesirably weaved amid his nerves. "I said the same thing to the guys earlier."

He knew his brother too well for him to get away with anything, seeing past the fake smile to the deep concern veiled under three thick layers of skin that had emerged since coming to the surface; the apprehensive grin wouldn't fool anyone with the trademark crease between his eyebrows, implying his face was detached from his true train of thought. Lars would rather lie to himself and project a false sense of security for his own illogical soundness than have you worry for him; he was embarrassed at the attention, trying not to focus on the unjustified sentiments and feed it any more forage to overwhelm him. There was one other time his body wracked to unneeded proportions, pushing him to the limit of cataclysmic circumstance and unleashing a devastating sphere of ferocity that almost took earth out of its galaxy, all from the comfort of his silver throne in the fiery half of his homestead. "I'm not going to pretend to know what's going through your head, but know that this isn't your fault."

His hands moved to his scalp. "Of course it's my fault."

"How? How were you supposed to know something like this would happen?"

"If I had done like I wanted and adopted him, none of this…" He squared his jaw, not wanting the thought to take up any more space than it did. "He deserved better."

"Yes, we know that, but I see nothing that alludes to this being your fault. Can you not focus on the fact that you saved him?"

He didn't want to, not until he was awake; he had learned his lesson on hoping in the past, opting for full-proof evidence in front of his eyes before he'd make the second longest exhale of his wretched life. "I can."

"Good. Let that sink in."

Lars reached along the bundle and tucked the white strands behind his ear. "I don't know what I would've done-"

"But it didn't. Because you acted and that's all that matters." Hanson knew only what his kin had brought home from work, snippets and paragraphs on their endeavours and conversations respectively, and never making a cohesive whole on his character other than his brother being in smitten with the smaller-than-usual orphan; knowing pretty much nothing about him, the mystifying pluck at this heartstrings made what sense it needed to, his petit four foot nine frame telling a story that didn't fit the tales told to him of the precious outsider he wanted more than anything to bring into an earnest home – whatever meant his happiness was indemnified for as long as he breathed. In the hour since coming home, Hanson wanted to give him the world on a silver platter, removing all traces of his unpleasant past and start fresh with as many books as he wished. "He's stunning," said the younger, at times not believing the white-haired smooth-skinned description from Lars.

And didn't he know it. "I told you. He'll amaze you when he wakes up."

"I look forward to it." They both giggled and Nero stirred. "And speaking of which-" Hanson was sold at the bright blue eyes wavering into consciousness, baffled at the new face and subsiding the instant Lars' face popped into frame; he moved the sunglasses back on his face to not scare him with the blood-red irises that would disappear in a few minutes. The younger was back to his ridiculous tactics to get a smile, changing from his normal voice to the polished accent of his favourite Sesame Street character that shared the colour of his skin with the incubus' eyes. "Hello there! Welcome to the land of the living."

It wasn't the ideal voice to wake up to but it sure did the trick, meriting a heathy, dry chuckle that hit both of them straight in feels they didn't know they had. "Is this your boyfriend? He's handsome."

Not two minutes and he was hunting for goodie points; the bugger was back – almost. "No, this is my brother, Hanson. He's been dying to meet you."

Although true, he could have worded it better. He left them to do his sole duty in the bathroom, locking the door and closing the window for steam optimisation. "How are you?"

"I'm good; a bit hungry," he said, cocooning the boy some more to preserve his body temperature. "Lars tells me you were really brave today."

His eyes brightened like the bum of a firefly. "He said that?"

"Of course! A police officer knows bravery in and out, doesn't he?" A few clanks came from the bathroom; plastic bottles fell to the floor; a whispered 'SHIT' bounced off the tiled walls. For crying out loud, he had to turn two taps. "He's busy drawing a bath for you so we can get this off in case the cuts underneath get worse. Is that okay with you?"

There was one thing on his mind. "Is it gonna hurt?"

"Initially, yes." 'Smaller words, Hanson. Smaller words,' he told himself. "At the start, it will; your whole body will burn because you are cold as well, but that's a good thing – the more burn the better. Once your body gets used to the temperature, we can try and treat your wounds properly so you're good as new. Lars won't go anywhere; I'll cuff him to the sink." He was getting better at the whole smile shindig. "I'm gonna make some soup while you soak; do you like soup?"

He wiggled a bit. "I like soup."

"Well then, that's one point for me-"

"The bath is ready, Hanson." Lars emerged victorious in his vicarious battle with water, swathed in random splashes from head to toe – how did water manage to reach the top of his six foot seven head, evident by the droplets dangling from his black tips – his shirt nearly soaking and transparent. It was highly likely there was more liquid on him than in the bath itself.

Hanson changed his voice again. "Are you ready, sir? If you aren't, sucks to be you-" Kermit disappeared as quickly as his comeback. "I'll stop now, I promise."

The boy squealed as he was lifted into the air. "Oh, the illustration of choice."

He tugged another bloody string. What was he doing to them? "You mean illusion?"

It puzzled him more. "Isn't that what I said?"

* * *

Hanson made a fresh pot of filter coffee, needing a stronger dose of caffeine to go with the light breeze drifting on the balcony; the soup was cooking and the egg timer set, and both demons took a breather while basking at the full moon lighting the bustling street beneath their feet. Drunk and sober, human and other, the myriad of coloured clothing stood out from the black tar of the road that led to the nightclub under the younger's ownership, the few hitting their limit earlier waving from the street up at them, waving half-heartedly back in tune with the bass vibrating the walls of the houses in a five mile radius. The ceiling of the club – their floor – and all their doors and windows were soundproofed, no sound being able to penetrate the apartment in the time since it was constructed. The younger sibling was about to speak when the timer went off, ringing close to the huge pot of their snack poaching on its ownsome lonesome. "Hold that thought," he said, walking briskly to the bathroom to check on the boy.

Lars turned and leaned over the thin bars, breathing in the alcohol that mixed with the air outside the main entrance, telepathically sending thanks to whatever god had created soap bars and shampoo; he took a deep swig and nearly emptied his cup when Hanson came back outside after resetting the timer, grabbing his full mug and mirroring his brother. "You were saying?"

He stared into the abyss as he spoke, suddenly finding his mouthful hard to swallow. "Fifty seven; that number mean anything to you?"

"Nope. Why?"

The reply should have been easy enough to deduce. "He has fifty seven cuts on his body."

"He could have gone until he was sure he was covered in them."

"I guessed that too; thought I'd ask in case." The elephant stuck his majestic, unsightly trunk in their mugs, drinking what was left of their respective drinks. "I promised to cuff you to the sink."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "That sounds so much better than visiting my ex for a favour that was the reason we broke up in the first place."

The notion was difficult to argue. "This is different-"

"It's a child, Eli. May not be his, but it's still a child."

Hanson shrugged. "He has Vergil; he has tons of experience."

Lars spat out the last drops of his coffee into an unsuspecting customer below, unfazed by the brown rain in a clear sky. "He does not-"

"There's no one else, and I know he'll think the same when you're done with the details."

"There isn't." He drank from an empty mug. "I'll leave when he's out."

"Mmhm hmmmmm." His cheeks bulged with the caffeine shaking his head willing an invisible snake's neck to snap in two. "Go now; that face is going to root you here. I'll explain the situation to him-" the timer went off again. "Just a second." He followed the same routine as before. "You were saying?"

Ah, yes. "No Kermit voice. It doesn't suit anything you're trying to achieve."

He shouldn't have reminded him. "I can't guarantee thaaaaaaa-" Lars twisted the small ear, making the last syllable peak to a pitch perfect for dog training. "Fine; my only redeeming quality out the frickin window." Hanson got his ear back, cupping the reddened skin. "Text to see if he's home and then just rock up."

He pulled his cell from the breast pocket of his coat. "Shouldn't I call him?"

The answer was no, but convincing him of a slight chance was also fun. "Will you keep the flirting to a minimum and tell him the actual point of the visit?"

The answer was no here too. "Probably not."

"Text it is." Hanson went inside and stared at the timer, hoping his fierce gaze would scare it to tick quicker. "Stay on course. Don't be swayed by those looks or your harbouring feelings for him, Ash."

The sarcasm was a nice catch, providing that extra sting of lemon juice into an open wound. "No need to use my real name, Hanson. I know how serious this is."

"You do – your penis doesn't."

"Does it ever?"

The egg timer vomited its final call for the evening. "I'm gonna take him out now. Where did you put the jammies?"

"In the spare room as per your request, your majesty." Lars accompanied the comment with a deep bow, standing to full height to a missing audience that thought his humour too lame; it gave him the best opportunity to send the dreaded text message, swiping his phone awake and typing in his passcode – four one one four two zero five – and locating his name in his address book, clicking the profile picture of a T-Rex with the caption 'if you're happy and you know it, clap your… oh'. Typical.

He began typing. _Hey. You home?_

Thirty seconds passed with a reply. _Hi. Body's here, mind isn't._

That was his code for coming home from a job. _Mind if I pop by? I have a really big favour to ask._

Twenty seconds. _My lawyer says yes._ He tapped the screen to reply the moment another message came through. _He told me to put on (clean) clothes. He's no fun._

Vergil was home too. He was lucky. _Maybe you should listen to him._

The brackets were cute. _That's what I pay him for._ Another moment for a second text. _Can I get a hint so I know what to Google before you get here?_ A third. _How serious is this favour?_

No point in lying, was there? _Pretty big._

 _Has it got something to do with the incident on the news?_

 _What makes you think that?_

 _Your name is everywhere._

Shit. _Maybe; maybe not… It would be great if your lawyer is present as well._

It took him five seconds to relay the memo. _Okay._ Lars was about to end the conversation when another text came through. _My lawyer wants to know if you're hungry._

Vergil and his obsession with food knew no bounds. _I haven't eaten all day, but he doesn't need to worry about me._

Dante was typing. _Join us for dinner then. Will Hanson be coming with you?_

 _No, it's just me._ He contemplated telling them he was looking after the rescued boy, but there was too little he understood at the legal implication of that information.

 _Give us a few minutes? We wanna wash up and not stinkify you when you get here._

That was a new one. _Stinkify?_

Whenever he began a text with the 'thinking face' emoji, he knew it was pure nonsense. _I realised that putting -ify as a suffix makes things more interesting._

The nonsense suited him to a T. _Whatever you say, Dante. See you in a bit._

He locked the devise and put it in his pocket, the text following a minute later. _Don't drive here; Verge wants to red-wine himself into a stupor and can't do it alone._

He of all people knew demons couldn't drink red wine. _And I can somehow fly drunk?_

 _The sky is safer than the road._ The hybrid had a point. _Wait… the sky is the limit. You get it? Because of the drinking limit… and you'll be in the sky…_

Oh, Dante. _Very clever. I'm clapping on the inside._

 _It's funnier face to face. I'll try it on when you get here._

 _Sure thing; see you soon. 3_ And it was at that instant he knew he fucked up, mentally slapping himself across the face. _Sorry. Force of habit._

Dante was a good sport, sending a row of blushing emojis filling the width of the screen. He pocketed his phone in time to see a happier, livelier Nero wrapped in a fuzzy towel waddling over the cold tiles; Hanson followed closely behind drying his hair on route the spare bedroom for the boy to show off a tape free body, replaced with healing cuts and bruises that didn't look as bad as it did hours before. "Would you look at that?"

"They're all off, even this one." He showed off his right forearm, slightly blistered from its depth and the strong glue that was attached to it, but now all that was needed was some TLC. "I thought you were going out."

Hanson continued to dry his hair, winking to Lars that he didn't need to say anything. "I'm on my way; I waited to see you," lied the older demon, bending slightly so he was in line with Nero. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He kissed the boy on his crown, sincerely frisking through the wet strands as he rose to face his brother, Nero turning just in time to see them plant an R-rated kiss – a normal peck – on each other's lips, grinning widely until they pulled apart with all involved parts back in their rightful places, giving each other a mild punch on the jaw before the taller of the two left on his adventure; the officer close the door behind him with Hanson ruffling through his hair to mask the big whoosh inches from their front door.

Nero gave him a look – thee look – and he brushed it off. "We always do that. No regrets if one of us doesn't make it home for some or other reason."

He steered the human into the room, patiently waiting outside while he got dressed in oversized pyjamas. "I'm not staying here, am I?"

Nero spoke softly, afraid that saying it too loud would result in its truth. "He was the commanding officer for your rescue; some time has to elapse before he can be connected to you, or the court will see it as a set up to get his hands on you."

"That isn't true."

"Only the three of us know that, and it will be difficult proving that in front of a judge. A case must be built for him to go to prison, and in that time you have to be living separately because it will be seen that he tampered with your statement and that you will speak in his favour instead of telling the truth. If it is brought to light that he takes you in, everything you say, even if it is the truth, will be called void because of the lifelong influence he had on you."

The door opened and he sauntered back to his spot on the bed. "Void?"

"It won't count. You won't be a reliable witness." That was how the legal system worked in the tiny town; you could be guilty down to your cracked heels and all it took was one piece of circumstantial evidence against the decision that made it stretch for weeks, or the worst case scenario in letting the crooks walk free until someone with enough guts threatened with their lives to step forward with one crucial aspect that altered the verdict. That hardly ever happened, and you never truly felt the wrong of the justice system until you are on the right side of it.

The demon went straight for the hairdryer on the small desk, clicking it to appropriate settings. "I wanted Lars to be my dad." Nero used the mirror to look at the man behind him having too much fun with his wet hair, appearing thoughtful in lending an ear to his troubles. "On the day we met, he sat by himself in a corner, kinda like what I did on my first day; I kept to myself and played alone because no one wants to play with a kid that looked different to them. But he was the first adult who went out of his way to try and talk to me; he'd deny it, but I saw it. I knew that's what I wanted when he visited me every day. I thought we looked the same too."

The man cleared his throat. "You could fool a blind man, I tell you."

He proffered a small smile. "Where is he going?"

"On the other end of town. His boyfriend lives there."

"Why doesn't he live here? Or why doesn't Lars live with him?"

It was too intricate to explain at nine in the evening. "They aren't together anymore. They couldn't agree on something for a while and it broke Lars' heart."

Nero had full knowledge of the concept, not comprehending the numerous paths of complication as one got older. "Is it still broken?"

Hanson had no idea. "I honestly can't answer that. I don't think he can either."

His young thinking was too precious. "What kind of question doesn't have an answer?"

He turned on the hairdryer proving his point and Nero laughed behind his hands, his broad shoulders bouncing from a joke that didn't involve any feature of Kermit the frog.

* * *

Dante opened his front door to a vision of two humungous wings in the dark sky, soaring over treetops in the pouring rain when he previously flew above them, dry as a daisy before slowly descending to the only light visible so late at night; the feathery wingspan grew as he hovered closer to his destination, landing solidly on two feet at the sidewalk directly in front of the hybrid. The man chuckled, realising the scene straight out of a supernatural romantic comedy had the added benefit of a heavy rain, drenching the blackened angel from his gorgeous sleek black hair to his Homer Simpson socks. "Seven point five," he said, stepping out of his doorway to make room for the beast to enter.

Lars stretched his arms across his chest as his devilish attachments fused under his skin, shaking the droplets out of his hair as he wiped his feet at the threshold, entering the house he had grown to love as his second home, losing twice to the wonder of nature's favoured resource. "I'm a bit rusty, so I appreciate your graciousness with the score." He took off his massive coat as his clothes dried from his obscene body temperature added with the roaring fire in the corner and the stove on full heat; Vergil flew across the countertops at top speed, and Lars would anxiously wait for the number of cuts to his fingers at handling the blades so recklessly. Dante was awkwardly floating at the TV, dressed comfortably in all black – t-shirt, sweatpants, uggs – and a beanie? He had a strict rule for headwear: it was only worn to cover mistakes. "Something's off."

The sly giggle from the kitchen astounded him, thinking it impossible for such a cute noise to stem from Vergil's lungs. "Pay up, Dante." Lars raised an eyebrow to the older brother as the hundred-dollar bill passed hands, the loser dropping his wallet on the glass table in front of the TV. "We had a bet to see how long it would take for you to notice."

The man in charge of making Dante poorer crossed the room and stretched his hand over the closer counter for Vergil to shake in greeting. "How long did he guess?"

"After one of us took the first bite out of our toasties." Who would have thought he'd live to see the day the ruthless bastard uttered the word 'toasties' as seriously as he did? "Dinner is ready if you want to take a seat."

Lars sat at the seat opposite the twins tucking into cheese and garlic steak tramezzini with salsa and a side of potato wedges, very unlike the carb-conscious chef that made sure the four letters of death went in every meal: S-A-L-A-D. "And this, Mr health-inspector-personal-trainer-imagiggy?"

The older brother took it as a compliment, dabbing some of the spicy chunks in an empty spot on his plate. "Cheat day; stress eating; call it what you want, I'm eating this."

They began stuffing their faces as Vergil poured the red wine into two glasses and handing one over, pulling a distasteful expression of Dante's trusted draught of beer; the incubus couldn't find a way to correlate the reason for his visit to the delicious dinner, and so forth started the tricks to bring up something of a lighter weight, viewing the perfect target through his fringe that refused to defy gravity like the rest of the clan atop his head. "So, should I ask or do you plan to show me what's hiding under there?"

Dante didn't mind in the slightest, dusting oil and crumbs from his hands and face with a cloth napkin. He kept his eyes on his plate, noting only two of the eight servings missing and taking nest in his tummy, chomping noisily on a wedge to catch the wandering attention of the adorability at the table, counting his blessings that the oak monster distanced them. "It's more what's not hiding under here," said the hybrid, dropping his head to the table to clamp some potato between his teeth as the beanie dropped with him. The officer choked upon seeing the chopped locks, the sides and back cut two inches from his scalp while the top was trimmed neatly, tripling the length of the sides but considerably shorter than the usual style he wore. Its natural straightness clung the longer strands to his head and it was charming seeing him blush at the open neck where his 'play hairs' used to be; they were his favourite for awkward moments… like these. "Ta-da!"

He. Looked. So. Damn. Yummy. "Wow… ummm… Okay, this is very new." Speechless wouldn't fit here; his mind went miraculously dry as his mouth did, glugging the full-bodied Sauvignon Blanc fast enough to appreciate the alcohol and musk seeping into his other-worldly system. "I didn't know you were rebranding."

Vergil's poker face was on full blast seeing the blurred verses in his mind roll like a roulette table, unable to make out a legible word but distinct in its intent. "I think it looks good with the clause that I want old Dante back."

The culprit threw the fluffy cap at him, momentarily caught and thrown over the back of the couch that directly faced the fireplace. "You're the one who cut my damn hair!"

"Mistakes were made; lessons were learned."

"Rather now when it's quiet, if you hate it that much." The good food and the better view was what he needed; he was practically made of hardcore Black Forrest cake and truffles after all. "If I'm being honest, I adore it. We get to see more of your face and I'm for that notion."

"Preach!" Vergil raised and wiggled his left hand, indifferently scoffing a fourth quarter like a starved squirrel stealing a nut from the winter stash, breaking the stringy cheese and dispensing some more crimson liquid for their second glass.

Lars briefly gave up on eating, sneaking obvious peeks at the accidental Dante skewing his eyes at the long stretch of lactose in front of his nose; he resisted the thought of wanting to run his fingers through the undoubted softness of the spiky silver bristles. "I love it, Dante." He was the last option on everyone's list when it came to anything Dante-esque, but he was known for his brutal honesty supplied with a smile – it was up to the recipient's mood to determine it genuine or patronising. "It looks really fucking good on you, but hey, giving input; don't take my word for it."

"I know. I'm wearing the beanie because the world isn't ready for me yet." The younger twin fetched the beanie and slipped it back over his faultless demonic skull.

Lars nodded along with his explanation. "Good call."

The three men continued their meal in peace, apart from the knives and forks hitting their plates, the occasional slurp from Dante's bottle and clinking of wine glass on varnished wood from the other two; he despised that every silence was serenely comfortable with them like they had not a single worry, and a tad jealous of that fact too. Their bodies were burdened only with strenuous training and waiting for their cell phones to ring, taking each opportunity to flex their impact on fiendish wrongdoers and leaving their sweat and reticence on the battlefield. He longed for the chance to not bring work home, made more ironic by the green-clad teen too small and underdeveloped for his age. The identical faces on the other side of the table exchanged vexed looks as Lars sunk deeper into his daydream of bad outcomes, his frown excavating into his forehead the worse the outcome. Dante kicked him mildly under the table and the scowl disappeared, easing his shoulders into his seat with his cure staring him down. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes I am." He averted his eyes to his glass, dipping the tip of his middle finger in the wine and tracing around the thick rim. "I think."

 _Go on, Dante, I'll handle this._

 _I told you he'd be more comfortable talking to you._ "I'll get desserts ready," he said, collecting the plates and cutlery. "Get cosy by the fire; I'll bring them over when they're done."

Lars stood and handed his stuffs over. "You don't need help?"

"I'm great, thanks." He added it to the stack, balancing everything on one hand. "Now scoot."

Part of his job was carrying out orders, so why not do it after hours? He almost forgot his drink as he sunk into the double couch perpendicular to the two single overfluffed armchairs that watched each other at opposite ends of the space, appropriately coloured in royal blue and crimson; Vergil sat dignified in his natural pose, positioning his glass to balance on his bent knee as his head tilted into the detective's lie of sight. He laced his fingers in his lap, readying the speech in his brilliant mind. "If you're worried about the boy, I had a stern talk with Dante when the mayhem started. When his picture was shown I knew what happened and sat him down." Did that mean he didn't have to say anything? Did he really evaporate every ounce of uncertainty in his joints with one sentence? "You're, also, the only man excluding the Chief with enough authority to oversee Alpha and Beta in one team, so there was no room for doubt in your involvement."

He hadn't thought of that; the hybrid truly was too smart for his own good. "I called in a personal favour. I needed who I could get."

"It doesn't matter now; he's safe and that's all that should matter. We knew to expect your call in the next three days, and here you are."

His tone was smooth and relaxing, putting him at an ease he never thought possible. "I can't trust him with anyone else." He chose not to, knowing there were no better hands to place at the mercy of his welfare.

"We know," said Dante, taking tiny fast steps to hand over one of the strawberry sundaes to his brother and relief enveloping his face nulling the responsibility of breakage. "It's a compliment."

Vergil bowed deeply, insinuating too much agreement that led Lars to believe he had told Dante to say that. "Things are getting quieter and we have the space. From a legal perspective, it's the best option."

The twins took a big mouthful at the same time; Lars counted to three in his head and like clockwork Dante caught the sad end of the sensitivity stick, scrunching his entire body at the sudden jolt of brain freeze he hadn't learned his lesson from. "He tried explaining that to me."

The other twin had no trouble chewing the dessert. "I want to know what you expect from us. I'm assuming you'll take the full six months for unauthenticated temporary guardianship while you look for a home."

Lars had finished three spoons of his portion, setting it on the floor out of harm's way; the stress was coming back as the details were thoroughly laid out, rubbing as much of the cold as he could out of his hands that spread through his body like wildfire. "Coming across a family who'd house an eighteen year old orphan is unheard of in these parts." The reality began hitting him in the back of his throat, snapping his sentiment in two. The man next to him stuck out a spoonful of his mix that he happily snatched and leaning in to the one thing he promised himself he wouldn't do. He rooted himself to the spot, finding it innately difficult to pull away from the pining blue orbs. "I don't want him homeless and starving. I'll do anything for it not to come to that."

Vergil managed to steer his focus to the present; Dante kept on staring. "What are we to do on our end?"

"Anything you think is necessary. You know more about this than I do."

"Who else knows about this arrangement?"

"Hanson and the Chief. That's it."

This was interesting. Interesting enough for him to set his treat at his feet and prop his bending frame on his elbows, sincerely drawn by this new piece of data. "Why does the Chief kn-" There was one reason he'd know; not toying with the fact that his curiosity killed his pets, but a statement from a higher rank as a witness on his testimony would automatically grant a win for the state. "Ah, so it's guilt that drives you."

"How can it not?"

He dismissed the belief with a flick of his hand. "It's vain; this isn't your fault."

"My brother said the same thing."

He always knew he had a brain on him. "Lars, if guilt is going to push things into place then by all means feel what you have to, but invest in this guilt. Don't do it to keep the nightmares away." He couldn't care less about Lars' sleepless nights, but needed to remind him that there was an impressionable factor involved, one who's future rested in every move he made from this night until who knew; he stood and fetched the wine bottle he left at the table, pouring himself another while walking up the stairs to his room. "Bring him by tomorrow evening. It should be enough time to getting everything sorted. If that is all, please excuse me; I have a date with an auburn-haired beauty that can't wait to kill someone by biting out their innards." He disappeared for the Mr Hell and Mr High Water to talk some of their insecurities through, snapping the ninety day hush from the forlorn in its proper place for the unspoken words to pass through the gaps of the spider web that continued to keep them within arm's reach of one another.

Dante turned his head as his bedroom door was closed. _Thanks, Vergil._

 _Make things right, Dante._

The expression on Lars' face broke his green heart, sitting rooted to the spot knowing he needed to leave but too deep in thought to make his brain move the rest of his body to match intent with limb, merely kicking his legs to the fire while his eyes located a flat surface for his thoughts to materialise in front of him. The couple were on the same frequency as Lars laid his head in Dante's lap; the sitting man used his left hand to smooth and play with the black strands while his right laced with the other, content in absorbing the flailing anxiety on unrivalled display. He smoothed away his frown too, shifting his fringe for an unobstructed view of his flawless face, rounding both sides of his jaw with the softest of touches, afraid of his beauty and its potency on his weakened heart. Some things never changed: he wouldn't dare move his head, breathing deeply to accentuate the stress leaving his exhausted physique and looking up at the sweetest view of his once beloved with sparkling eyes, an angelic glow around his head from the light above. How he'd prayed to wake up to that same face every day, laying for hours next to his heavenly until he blinked the signs of sleep from his eyes, never failing to greet him with the most passionate kiss before the sun could get a good peek that perceptibly hinted to the astounding sex they'd have before enjoying a carbo-loaded breakfast making up for the burned calories. Lars would stay like this forever if he could, gazing at the man who owned his heart and broke it just once, and after three months, found their recovery harder than anything they had faced as supporting entities. "Did you do something new with your hair?"

It was fairly difficult to concentrate with the trained digits hitting all his sweet spots. "Stress isn't only good for the skin, you know."

Dante squeezed his hands tightly, slightly embarrassed to ask the next question. "That thing with the Chief you mentioned earlier… he offered to give a statement on the adoption papers?"

"He did."

"And is he the one-"

"Yes, he is." The incubus cupped his hand over theirs, gently rubbing the top of his hand with his thumb. "You'll love him, regardless of that fact."

It tickled; he tried not to laugh, and Dante holding one back was the best form of squish he'd ever see. "You think so?"

"I do. At least I hope you do." He brought the soft hand to his lips, tiny butterfly kisses grazing the silky soft skin. "He needs it."

"I'll try my best."

That cheeky smile caught him completely off guard, holding himself together by the thinning red string of fate swaying in his mind like a pendulum, whispering empty threats of breaking in two the further it swung moving according to the working cogs in his brain. "Thank you. I appreciate this, and so does he."

Dante impulsively pulled their hands to his chest, allowing Lars to feel the hastening echo in chest, an exquisite rhythm designed to give strength to the weak and hope to the bleak, feeling the organ skip a beat when he suddenly averted his attention to his face. "I can't say no to you, you know that."

"Good. Keep it that way." His heart was beating faster, rapidly speeding the longer his destined lover gazed deeply into his soul, unapologetically yearning those supple lips to crash against his own in a craved meeting of their unsolicited hunger, reigniting the spark that fizzed inside their bellies to fuel the fire that once burned for eons before; Lars freed his hand and reached to Dante's neck, trailing his fingers to the underside of his jaw as he lifted himself to meet his demise in its swollen fervour; the hybrid assisted the strain in his neck with his hand, moving him quicker to his destination where they met utterly desperate to slake their appetites that had gone untouched for too long. The twin was appropriately distracted while his partner climbed to his knees and straddled him on the cushions, his thighs under predictable sensual attack, journeying up and between his sensitive pleasure centre to arrive at his hips, encouraging subtle stimulus on his lap while his mouth became increasingly occupied with Lars' tongue, mixing in the virtue of their usual foreplay with the unhindered, irrevocable severity of the main event taking the demon by the horns – literally – entwining his fingers through his silver hair underneath the beanie and remove it to deepen the kiss as much as demonically possible, pushing his head over the back of the couch to gain a ninety degree leverage on his greedy desire.

Dante moaned deeply in the back of his throat, feeling at home with that spiked tongue on every inch of his neck while he toyed with the hem of his shirt, pulling it swiftly over his head to rain more chaos on his strong, pale chest, licking along every defining muscle and leaving tiny scratch marks with every sated desire; the victim all but watched the handyman at work, descending lower on his sculpted frame and biting him under his belly button, earning a merited growl from above that sprung a death grip in his hair to be tugged flat onto the couch, Lars mounting him like a cat slowly readying a pounce on his catch for the day, underhandedly sneaking between his clothed legs and hovering over the flat palms on his chest. "I miss you."

The hands that stopped him pulled on his skinny tie, throwing it over the back of the double seat to unbutton the seven knobs keeping him from insanity. "Do you want me to say it back?"

"If you mean it…"

Lars' chest felt the heat of the fire as his shirt was carefully removed off his massive shoulders. "What will happen to me if I say it?"

Dante sat to admire the familiar sight before him, made more puissant by the starvation thereof; his arms felt comfort in the small of his back muscles, his breath hot on the flawless skin still sitting on his knees and tensing at the pressure building in his stomach, using the tip of his nose to toy with the black accessory dangling on the silver necklace. "Anything you want," he said, moaning on heated flesh as he clawed into his flesh.

He quickly got the picture with rolling eyes and a dry throat, both hands digging into the silver scalp. "As per your request, I'm supposed to be getting over you-"

"We both know that won't happen. I gave up on the first day."

He wasn't too sure if it was a good or a bad thing. "You didn't even tr-"

Lars was interrupted with a quaint bite to his nipple, murdering the last sound to fade into a gaping exhale of silent profanity heard by Cerberus and his deafened minions of the Underworld. "I will always belong you; every part of me is yours for as long as you'll have it."

His concentration dipped far south, feeling his way down the expanse of his torso to rest at his waistband, skilled in the art of slow torture while confiscating another piece of clothing off him; seeing as they were his work clothes, he'd never forgive Dante wrecking his thousandth pair of slacks and accompanying belt in favour of a quick romp on his furniture, and to his own downfall he now went purposely slow, the detritus too great to be spoiled by the act rushed and unsavoured. But a sickly part of him nagged the back of his brain as his conscious got the better of him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and digging his chin to the top of his head – a sign that he chose not to see the spurred reaction from Dante, pained in every fathomable language as the tears burned in his cheeks. "…then why did you break up with me?"

He stopped, frozen in place by the serious corner they had taken. "I was ashamed I couldn't give you what you wanted."

"I wanted you-"

"You wanted a family-"

"With you." His gravelly voice was mild, inconsequential, indignant, like he was scared he'd made the biggest mistake in bringing it up but horrified he hadn't been granted closure for what was a life-changing decision. "Do you really think breaking up with me meant I was gonna find it somewhere else?" He regained control over his emotions, falling onto the couch and moving his hair into his face. "Do you really think that little of me-"

"Hey, you're jumping to conclusions here. I didn't say that nor did I imply anything with it." Dante tucked the offending strands behind his ear, giving them individual looks on their audacity to shield his stunning face irrespective that it was his doing; he placed a benevolent peck on the demon's lips, lacing a silver lining at the contours of his mouth that was futile to resist, enticing the volatile mouth to move of its own free will, curling and puckering with its counterpart in a mess of exquisite doom of the finest degree. Natural defiance caught Lars mid-way to his bad habit of overthinking, enfolding on the twin's right hip while playing with the drawstring on his sweats bulging forward in his intense arousal. "You caught me off guard, Lars. What else was I supposed to do?"

There was much more to that sentence that he wouldn't figure out in a situation like this. "I can't believe that," he said, retying the drawstring. "I refuse; there's something else you're not telling me." He waited; no answer – anything was possible with the way Dante's mind worked, and attempting to compress the matter into a single motive would be improbable. Lars felt the silence echo from the darkest recesses of his mind to the brightest spots of his soul, weaving through the cuts and grains of his heart to the depths of his shadowed psyche, losing faith in what could have been but hurdled by something as simple as a fragment of trust, dropped from a dizzy height and shattering to microscopic pieces on a spotless marble floor eager to be swept under the rug; he had practice in being lied to but none hurt as much, merely going on his merry way to the next investigation room to be lied to some more; but this was one room and one culprit cuffed to the desk and one question put forward to alleviate the unease of not knowing. The demon dropped his head, peeling Dante's arms off his body and lifted himself off the couch, grabbing his shirt and tie and stuffing it into the pockets of his trench coat, dressing in the lone jacket and leaving out the front door without a word while the other man remained dumbfounded, getting to his feet and seeing the figure walk down the street in the pouring rain.

 _I told you to make things right._

Dante looked up. _What? You want me to tell him the truth?_

 _The mere fact that you have to ask that proves that you're an idiot._ He was in so much shock he couldn't move. _The best thing that will ever happen to you is walking away. DO SOMETHING, YOU MORON._

 _It doesn't help you insulting me, Vergil._

 _It doesn't help proving me right the longer you argue._

Lars slowed in pace and stopped suddenly, breathing heavy as he rolled up his sleeves for the natural cool of the evening to grace his skin that maintained its fuming scorch from fighting the only creature who could make his blood boil to temperatures found on the surface of the sun, the droplets evaporating upon contact into puffs of hot mist scaling into the atmosphere at another chance of touching the demonic presence; he laid his palms upward and watched each drop collect along the ridges in his hands, leaving a trail of wet that ceased its constructed existence that lasted longer than its plummet from the sky happy to meet its ruin at the literal hands of death. He ran his fingers through his hair, gathering the sodden silk and twisting it around his wrist to induce some pain to focus on.

 _You let that go. You're an idiot._

The whispered anguish in Vergil's voice was hard to ignore. "LARS!" Dante screamed from the window and ran to the front door, meeting his static other half who held tightly onto his sleek, demonic mane that continued to drip down inside his sleeve. He promised himself he wouldn't be the one to walk away; he swore an oath to never turn his back on the man who had changed his life for the better, and yet he couldn't find the courage to turn around and face the chase he was cowardly running away from. Thinking about it now, he truly didn't want to know anymore, and in that moment he was too emotionally exhausted to give a shit. His words. "Just wait a minute. Please."

He could do that, but at what expense? "You ended us, Dante." His left hand massaged his right shoulder bare underneath his coat, clicking his neck in expectancy of some strength to float in the air directly under his nose, filling his lungs with the mental power he needed to wean out of his predicament. From the hybrid's perspective, he was infinitesimal in comparison to his usual boldness and no-nonsense demeanour, holding his hips like the world had fallen onto his shoulders. "Our life was perfect and you ended us."

He stepped closer, the rain beating hard on his muscular chest. "It was far from perfect-"

"But it was US!" Lars' raspy voice echoed down the adjoining streets, bouncing of the street poles and waking the dark alleyways who had banked on an early night's rest. "We've never needed perfect. We had each other, and that made it perfect."

"You don't have to tell me-"

"Then why? Why are you chasing me in the rain, Dante? Why do you insist on making this so much harder than it needs to be?"

"That's not what I'm trying to do-"

"THEN WHAT?" Lars turned sharply, the after effects of the rotation fraying on his hair and coat; his kingly persona dispelled under the moonlight, messily grabbing the back of his neck with his thick cuffs, closing his eyes and taking calming breaths at the lovely sight; the twin was glowing, the tone of his body on a seamless backdrop of pure black heaving an empty chest with nothing but the repercussions of accumulated wrongs to the unjust, venal monistic opinion that had started the slow descent to the unhappy fork of their ending.

Dante was determined to close the gap without pushing him further than he already had, keeping him entranced in the binding inferno of his cerulean stare to not move a muscle, hypnotising the rest of his physique to root to the very spot he stood. "You said no. We couldn't be normal after that."

'What constituted normal, exactly?' was a question he'd have to re-evaluate and come back to, knowing too much of the wrong side of fucked-up to a just equilibrium of measure as an accurate reading to explain the jumbled mess. He, however, was in constant step toward his beloved, waiting to see an expression that begged him to stop dead in his tracks; instead, the span of his wide-open arms enveloped him from the wet rain as he clutched at the coat, pulling him close for his head to rest on that divine heartbeat that had soothed him in the many nights they had shared, cocooned in his ultimate fantasy come true and surpassing any dream he could imagine. "Dante, I love you. More than anything." He caressed his back, gentle fingertips tracing an ancient ritual on his relaxing canvas. "You're going to have to work harder if you think a rejected proposal means that stops happening."

He nodded against his ribcage, knocking the ring out of its usual place. "I know that-"

"Then why did you push me away?" Lars held him on either side of his neck, toying with the now smaller hairs. "If you gave us the chance to talk, everything would have been different."

"Convincing me to raise our child would have been a far step."

"But look at you now; you're getting a teenager."

Dante chuckled slightly, snaking under the folds of the coat. "It's different – I don't have to wipe his ass."

"I would have done that," said Lars, ironing the top of his head for a tiny peck. "Come on; we're on a roll – keep talking and I can figure it out."

No words could explain how deep in they both were. "I'm no father, Lars. I couldn't be one even if I tried." He kissed his chest over the lone piece of jewellery, lingering over the rising gooseflesh. "I can't do that to a baby. I can't see it."

The sad part about it all was that Lars did, and for a really long time. "Hey, wanna know a secret?" Dante looked up, revelling in the timid play of his chopped bangs amid the demon's soft touch. "Your father said the same thing." He remembered it as if it were yesterday, sitting in his silver throne with his legs over the right-hand armrest, observing the soon-to-be dad pacing deep in thought about every minute detail of his sons' lives. "He walked up and down the throne room when your mom wasn't looking, pulling his hair out for the tiniest of issues, mainly who was going to wear blue and the other red, what your signature weapons would look like, who'd be your godparents, what TV shows and music he wanted to get you addicted to, whether you were going to be right- or left-handed, what hairstyle to put you in so people wouldn't get confused, even struggling with what to name you and the exact date he would start your training." He went as far as discussing the specifics with his three best friends, each providing a different answer to throw him off course. "When you two were born he relied on instinct alone; each point I mentioned melted from his subconscious when he realised everything just works out as time went by. Trial and error. He learned so fast, and then it was cut short. He'd told me many times that he'd rather die than be ripped from his family ever again; I was young and stupid and never gave it a second thought to understand until I met you. And Nero much later on. I was selfish in wanting to know what that felt like, and I'm sorry for the pressure I put on you. It was so in the moment and a thousand things were flying through my head and the only thing at the centre of it all was to make you happy. I made the assumption that you wanted the same things, but I couldn't back down from the fantasy I had created in my head-"

"Stop." The twin dug into his back to restrain the sensations in his heart. "Don't make this your fault to protect me."

"I was at fault as well-"

"Don't do it; that's not fair. Let me hate myself just this once."

That was nearly improbable; Hell would construct a theme park in the South Pole before anything of that nature bared its fangs on the human plane. "I'll do everything in my power to prevent that from happening; you know that." Lars dipped his head into the crook of his neck, licking his lips purposefully close to the base of his ear, sighing deeply once he felt his skin prickle, delicately whispering at the shell. "Besides, you can't love me if you can't love yourself."

"I'm doing it right now," said Dante, kissing his partner on the same spot as payback –a bad move considering Lars was still connected in the puzzle piece, impeccably placed for a setting of nibbles and love bites and moaning into the musk of the intoxicating skin he'd never want to be without, feeling the twin's body tense all over while his hand automatically embedded itself in the jet-black illegality that was his strong genetics. The bites shocked him to his toes, curling inside his slippers as he threw his head back and growled to the cold evening, the steam of his hot breath fading between the downpour that was pleasant on his skin. "Now that I think about it we've never kissed in the rain."

He would do anything to have Lars' lips on his own, already in the mood to cling for as long as he had to, needing Lars in his bed quicker than the expiry of a firework on the fourth of July; the man halted his onslaught, mentally agreeing with the sentiment put forward by his ex-lover. It was an understatement to retort them floating on the same wavelength, emotion harbouring no element to assess how badly they needed one another in that precise moment yet anxious of making that dreaded move given the elapsed time of loneliness they had both endured. "This doesn't change anything." Lars readied his body for the tremor that would shake the tectonic plates under his feet, painstakingly rocking his world off balance being further away from his equipoise than he'd ever been.

"Never," was all he said, unable to hold himself off the magnetic pull that was the man before him, moving quickly to close the gap that offended their bodies in their undertaking, holding onto one another like their lives depended on it, afraid that letting go would be the real goodbye in a sea of hellos at their forced reunion; Lars couldn't help devouring every part of Dante's mouth, thrusting tongue first into the familiar as he held him close, taking control of the kiss and allowing to spiral out of the wasted control they were skilled in, running on the fumes of their longing to be satiated by the other; Dante gave in almost immediately, tightening his grip at the waistband of Lars' slacks to keep himself from falling victim to jelly-knee, feeling the missed effects he had on him and having his mate act accordingly in bending to pull his legs to either side of his growing arousal, handing the command of the smooch to Dante who deepened it as per unspoken protocol, grinding along the demon's body to rouse the ending of the night they had mutually hoped for. He picked at the ring on his neck, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with fervour. "I hope you'll find it in your heart to wear this someday. I want the privilege of making you happy for the rest of our lives."

Lars gazed up at the man, a sparkle in his eye he hadn't seen before. "Why are you saying that?"

He spun the pure onyx in the moonlight, remembering the engraving on the inside of the three-dimensional promise. "This offer expires only when it lands on your finger. Until it does, eternity doesn't have anything on how long I will wait for you, Lars." Dante rested his forehead on the other, so close to breaking down at finally admitted his deepest want out in the open. "This is going to end with us, whether you like it or not."

Lars was beyond the point of no return. "I like it," he said, pressing Dante deeper into his chest for another kiss, hiding the perilous intent of his actions so far over an acceptable boundary that he no longer cared, only occupied with the splendour of the now, opening his eyes at the wonder that was the hybrid synonymous with his never-ending happiness; Dante couldn't stop, refusing to, letting the anguish of his solitude speak louder than words could convey, encapsulating perfection at its finest degree at the two of them entwined in the open with nothing to hide but the true depth of their bond to the world.

Vergil moved his curtains for an unobstructed view of the street, seeing the ex-lovers as they once were; fierce in spirit and even more so in nature, meeting at the worst of consequence, limbs tangling with specific intent to never let go as Lars took steps forward into the house, disappearing beyond their front door and hearing it lock into place before a louder thud greeted the couch at the fireplace.

Idiots.


	6. The turmoil of secrets

The thin blankets and the sunlight were unwelcomed in his sleep-deprived state, blinking his beady blues to consciousness at the black ceiling that wasn't his own; to much of he and his brother's probable dismay, a day had passed and no change had occurred, stuck in their opposing bodies for another day of deceit and mime brought upon by a bad decision that may be costing them their sanity when they eventually do find their lives back into their correct forms. Vergil sat up in bed and rubbed at his neck, soothing a nagging pain that shook down his spine and into his tailbone, spiking him off his cosy lazy ass and onto the cold laminated floor that only made it worse, chuckling to himself as he stared at the ceiling with the menthol-esque lull on the throbbing bone, squeaking at the icy touch to his naked butt cheeks.

After jumping into a quick shower, which meant turning the temperature to scorching and having the gentle rain hit and flow down his back, he scaled his staircase in nothing but ankle socks and the sole pair of grey boxers he'd be caught dead in – yes, it wasn't blue and it was one size too small – stopping at the penultimate step and pushing his sleepy sex hair into something vaguely resembling his brother's sleek look, impelling the two signature tufts behind his ears owing to his three-hour rest bending them at an awkward angle. The younger twin gave up at his second attempt, discarding the cat-scratch method his brother had shown him and letting everything hang forward to mask the invisible fatigue his body was feeling; he fluffed the wet silver strands forward because fuck grammatical correctness this early in the afternoon, greeted by true Vergil in a matching white tee and sweats seated with his face in his iPad and odds and ends of his breakfast to his right. Barefooted and filled with food to his neck, Dante glanced to the new arrival with controlled surprise at the non-clothed ratio of maniacal opulent luxury of his own body on exhibit for particles of air to latch and drool onto, purposely scratching across the span of his broad chest and opposite shoulder and turning his attention to the specialised ASMR happening in the kitchen off to his right, hearing soft slippers move around the counter to see the article of Dante's fascination. Nero followed his line of sight and nearly choked on his saliva at the yawning twin, the image of what he expected shoved back down his throat to prevent logic from reaching his brain and overall thought process to compute the serving of sheer audacity that had every idea of what he was doing. He finished his yawn and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, pulling more hair forward to hide the puffiness of his tired face as he walked to the kitchen, passing the boy on his way there. "You… want me to… ummm… fix… you a plate?"

He was stuttering. Dante was amused. Vergil focused solely on not breaking anything he touched, watching his brother have a ball of a time 'reading the headlines of the day'. "No, sit." He wanted to be useful and it smelled like Nero could no longer bear to stand. "I'll get it; don't worry." As he dished his sunny-side eggs, bacon, and hash browns to go with his brother's pork sausages, he noticed the half-eaten plate at the perpendicular counter, fork settled on the right side of the plate dug into a piece of hash brown – he was the only one in the house who ate left handed and who made an effort for his cutlery to not move when in an inactive state. "Why is that there?"

He pointed to the breakfast waiting for a response. The food was warm so there was no need for the microwave. "I got hungry while I was cooking and I'm too lazy to move it."

"Okay then," he said, grabbing his toast and a fork and carrying both their plates to the dining table. The boy watched on like he had just taken a piece of chocolate without permission, putting it in his usual place across from them and pulling his chair out to account for every aspect of his indolence. "There we go. Now would you please sit?"

Nero was by no means going to incriminate himself in saying he couldn't; he walked over and grabbed the back of it, running his hands on the wooden outline of the seat and biting his bottom lip under Dante's cautious eye. "You didn't have to do that."

Vergil tucked himself in his seat, getting a cute nudge from his brother's stationary arm. "I didn't. Is there a problem in me moving it for you?"

The decadent innocence on the twin's face as he looked up was enough to commence world peace across the globe, the sleepy tinge adding to overall aesthetic of the nice demeanour craftily hidden by long eyelashes and deep blue eyes. "No-"

"Then okay," he said with a deft nod, staring into the soul of the seat until he sat. "Dante is finished and I don't want to eat alone."

His sleepy voice practically dripped in raspy goodness left to right, accumulating in the dip in the middle as a smirk emerged, taking his first stacked bite of the scrumptious first meal to a mediocre day; he had nearly forgotten that it wouldn't be as nice as lifting his feet onto his oak desk and falling asleep at will, woken by the antique phone propped at the corner that he had expertly learned to pick up without moving from the slumping chair. There was a very important phone call they were waiting for and secretly fearing the voice and request on the other side of the line – whether demonic or human, there was a new enemy for the clan to disembowel and this fiend now held the upper hand in holding not only their friend and Dante's lover, but the second highest ranking police officer in the state, inclusive of the high officials of the twelve neighbouring towns put together. The captor's rights as an individual would cease along with his will to breathe should either of the twins get their hands on him/her, revoking the luxury of life at the snap of two fingers, preferably positioned on either side of the jackass's neck. But he couldn't think those thoughts, wishing the demon had miraculously found his way home in the early hours of the morning and was sleeping soundly in his huge bed; Dante too hoped a few mosquito bites would irritate the monster as a proper welcome home, giggling to himself and stuffing his face to hide his lone amusement. The other two began a quiet panic at the breathy noise stemming from Vergil's pores, halting before he lost himself in the warm feeling of itchy pimples… recognising he was far too deep in his brother's thinking and decided to concentrate on chewing instead, the two pairs of ice shooting their rays on his cheek and forehead as he continued eating. Nero was halfway to his seat, looking for anything banal to void his actions and stand up, and it hit him like the overheated grill of a truck on a cold winter's day. "You don't have anything to drink." It wasn't a question and he got up immediately. "Hot or cold?"

He may as well take advantage while he could, sending him on as much of a goose chase while he spoke to his older brother. "Both, if you don't mind."

He returned to his feet happily, giving Vergil a quick nod as he turned to the kitchen for some fresh vanilla flavoured tar and freshly squeezed orange juice. Nero bent low to search for his blue mug in the dishwasher as the twins silently shifted closer to one another; true Dante ate with his left hand to accommodate the open palm resting on his thigh, both twins still in the bubble of their amatory arousal this close to one another. Dante crushed their laced fingers to claim his gaze, giving him some precious side eye as the tentative kiss was planted on his jaw and then went back to his reading. "You didn't listen, did you?" Vergil nibbled on a piece of bacon, breaking off tiny pieces with a raised eyebrow in view of the roused, mature one of the two. "I told you to take it easy, but no, someone has to make a point."

He tapped on the screen, being inconspicuous to rubbing on the inside of his thigh under the table. "I thought I was."

The younger sibling chewed slower. "Well, you've learned your lesson. This may be the night to break the streak."

"This has happened before, and he's worked through the pain." The muscles in his brother's leg tensed, letting out a small cough as his food ventured down the wrong pipe. "The only way to cure a hangover is to stay drunk, correct?"

Logic somehow flew out the window when it came to his favourite cardinal sin. "You're despicable; you could have seriously hurt him."

"He asked. I obliged."

"Oh, well then of course this is his fault." The younger went back his breakfast trying to ignore Dante's hand. "Was it at least worth it?"

He kept on reading and scrolling, stimulating the organ over his own clothing. What was he up to? "I don't think that question is appropriate, Dante."

Did he understand that definition given his very actions? "Oh really?" Now he wanted to zip his lip? For the reason of not speaking out of the bedroom or because he was nervous at admitting it wasn't too bad? "That good?"

The pressure he administered dissipated. "Dante-"

"Oh come on: what am I supposed to think after you sucked the demon half out of me last night?" He was as sincere as the conversation would permit, leaning into the form next to him looking for the more important detail than the actions that had caused Nero pain. "I want to know that he was taken care of."

The pressure resumed, shooting true Dante back into his seat. "He was. Thoroughly," he said, his eyes following the boy on his way from the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a tall, orange glass. No pulp, just the way Vergil liked it. "You have him to thank for that."

The limb vanished to a game of Word Jam on the tablet, holding the device in a portrait orientation and turning away from them as he drew shapes on the glass to fill in the crossword. Nero set the juice to his left and the coffee on his right, ear facing outward. Vergil forgot how picky of an older brother he had; whether or not the boy did it out of habit, he was unnecessarily particular in every facet of his existence. What a dweeb. "Here you go."

He was too nice to put up with his bullshit; then again, that was just how he was. "Thank you, Nero."

Dante tried not to smile too broadly next to him, biting his lips shut as his tablet buzzed with the find of a new word, locking the screen as his cell phone rang from above. The twins shared a worried look knowing who was on the other end. "Please excuse me," said Dante, moving quickly across the lounge and up his stairs, closing the door behind him as the ringing stopped and a muffled voice followed the jovial tune, the complete opposite of the tone to the anticipated conversation – it was a smart phone dammit; why couldn't it tell it was a bad phone call and play something depressing instead?

Vergil's eyes stared at the door choosing to not eavesdrop, focusing on the crooked grimace a few feet away; it was a compliment and a simultaneous bust to his stomach that it was his body that sent that flawless face off-centre, forcing him to remember the events that put him in that state which wasn't a bad thing to begin with, but still. When it came to Dante's physiology, no one knew better; he couldn't count the number of times he was thrown with a fluffy red cushion from his bed while Vergil lie on his back out of commission, stroking his fur blanket because that's all he could do for the time being but never hearing a complaint leave his swollen pink lips that he'd continue to bite while Dante got a toasty bath ready for him. The potency of an afterglow was too powerful for Vergil's face to remain frozen, leering all the way to the bathroom as he was carried wedding style and set gently into the tub, the goofy beam watching as Dante left him to 'heal' in the hot water.

If Vergil had a motto, it would be: BATHS CURE EVERYTHING!

The twin finished off his juice first, stealing tiny glances at the human until he either noticed or got annoyed, whichever came first, tapping the cooling seat next to him. "Come to this side. If we sit closer we can gossip properly."

Nero was bated by logic. "He'd hear us regardless."

"We can pretend to want to get away with it." He snapped his neck to the seat, rotating in his chair for his body to face the boy at all times until he finally reached his destination, taking it slowly in rhythm with the adorable scowl . Vergil handed the warm mug over, full from breakfast and assuming it was the tolerable tar his brother was served; he grabbed it and took a slow sip, looking over the rim and caught him staring. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, taking another gulp of the sludge. "No nightmares this time."

"You're having nightmares?" There was one thing he knew Vergil did on a daily basis, laying his palm flat in his direction and flicking his digits upward. He prayed he got it right. "About what?"

Nero struggled with the simplest of actions, daring his body to hypothetically pick between pain and relief, kicking off his thin slipper and handing over his heavy left foot, lying against the back of the chair at an angle that alleviated some of the tension in his muscles. "An Oreo cake ate me last week." The boy could see he was attempting to hold in a laugh, constituting the contents contained within to not fit the description of a nightmare. "I was looking up microwave cake recipes and came across one I had to try, but we didn't have any of the ingredients so I was gonna go shopping the next morning. That night I had the dream, and the cake was made with the ingredients we didn't have at home and it ate me. I was stuck in its belly and realised I could eat my way out. That's what I did. I woke up after that."

Vergil squeezed up his ankles and calf, invigorating the lazy muscle to its youthful state once more, bending his foot and loosening the stiff joints from the night's four hour adventure; he gripped at the pads and grasped the tendons snugly, adjusting the movements in his wrist to wean some satisfying groans from his test subject – the harder he moved the deeper they grew, massaging up and down the limb where he traversed to his knee and shocked him at the kneecap, jolting his body forward in humoured pain and setting his knee on the edge of the chair. "That wouldn't happen to be the same night you didn't want the dessert I-" he coughed to hide it, "Dante made?"

Nero stared lovingly at him, a compelled smile as all the bad mojo was dragged from his toes. "I had a small piece. And it was my favourite – you have no idea how it hurts when Nutella cheesecake creeps you out."

His world suddenly spun out of orbit as a smile reached both sides of Vergil's face, crumpling his cheeks in a way he never thought possible; he was a gorgeous cotton ball of festering hate, shamelessly dog-tired to realise he'd lost control of his facial features; he made a mental note to watch the news for any natural disasters across the globe that may have been caused by the sweet grin, falling far too deep into an unknowing spell only he knew to undo. The mix of Dante's overall fluffy spirit and Vergil's unvoiced feelings for Nero was the cherry on top of least menacing cake he could think of, tipping the scales of lady liberty in favour of his heart dropping into his stomach at the picture he couldn't place into any category of his mental directory; the smile faded and he hated it, a soft hand tracing the cheek that was against the chair. "You're precious, you know that?"

The twin's thumb stroked his skin, distracting himself from the muffle of what sounded like Vergil trying to calm his phone down. "You've never had a cake run after you and eat you, have you?"

His voice was squeaky serious and he was blushing. "No, but I'm sure it's terrifying."

"It looked delicious so it wasn't scary until it swallowed me whole." Nero held onto his arm, stealing the suggestive glances thrown his way and trying to amplify and reciprocate them, comprehending his loss four seconds too late as the hybrid pulled at the tiny hairs on his neck, keeping his attention on a lip bite straight from the fires of Hell; he wouldn't win, that was for sure, but the vague illusion of putting up a fight was sufficient in his books, seeing how far he could push Vergil before either of them cracked. "Do you guys have plans for today?" More importantly, did Dante have plans?

The human's face fell at the nerve he'd hit, the shreds of happiness dwindling between uncertainty and fear as Dante forced his thoughts into two dead end forks about the best course of action to follow and the appropriate reaction if it were Lars they would have to look for; Nero squeezed his limp wrist back to the reality of his worried cerulean orbs, frowning in confusion for the standard deviation of his true train of thought. "It depends on that phone call he took upstairs. We might be sent on a scavenger hunt." Dante didn't want him to worry over his personal quarrels, tugging the conversation to his second worry. "Are you going to be okay?"

His frown deepened, having Vergil nod to the throbbing ring of muscles. "This? This is nothing."

The twin wasn't convinced with the small voice. "I'm serious-"

"So am I. I'm a big boy. It hurts more to resist calling you a pain in the ass." True Dante was impressed at his cheekiness, curling his toes to crunch the soft thumb that dug into his foot; in one swift motion, Vergil moved his arm around the boy's back and brought his body across his lap, grabbing the other flailing leg over his settled thighs and holding him at the hips, slouching a tad in his posture for their sexes to share a good morning as well. Nero's eyes grew the size of saucers, turning his head to the door hiding the older brother from seeing them. "What the hell are you doing? Dante could come downstairs any minute!"

He wasn't expecting an apology, was he? "I got carried away. But this is the best position to be in." And yes, he'd know, judging by the way he relaxed into his frame while he massaged his lower back and eventually his butt cheeks, his head drooping onto his shoulder as the back of his thighs were explored by the twin's soft hands. "I won't try anything. I'll just sit here with you sprawled across my lap while baby Nero tries to sneak his way into the discussion."

"He's been here since you came down those stairs." Nero peeled himself away from the perfect form of poison he straddled. "Now let go-" 'before I lose it' was what he decided not to say, knowing he was clearly far gone already, the last step promised to not come to fruition by Vergil's words. "You can't break your own rules."

"And what rules might those be?"

"You said you wouldn't try anything while your brother's in the house. For my safety."

"We'll hear that door before he sees a…ny…thing."

He deliberately accentuated the syllables, biting the tip of his tongue that sat comfortably in the corner of his mouth. "What's gotten into you? First last night, and now this-"

"What happened last night?" This was alien territory now.

"See? It's like you weren't even there." As if he couldn't make what he was saying more baffling, he gently kissed the unoccupied crook, allowing him that much to placate his mind for the rest of the day. "You chop and change between each end of the stick and I can't keep up with you."

Nero made the attempt to move off him but he wouldn't budge his iron-clad grip, irresolute claws climbing underneath his tee and digging into the curves of his back, clenching his teeth while the boy let a drowsy groan gurgle in his chest. "I'm sure we're both clear on what side of the stick I'm on now."

The human fell forward. "Could you stop, please-" he spoke to the ceiling, gripping Vergil's shoulders to gradually come down from his high, his body too ready for the nature of his intent to see it to the end. "He's gonna catch us and I want to talk to him. I don't want Dante to find out in any other way." It was already too late for that, but it warmed him from the inside out that the sentiment was there, wanting to make sure he was okay with it, and if not, spend the rest of his adult life convincing him to change his mind. His thoughts as to why it would be detrimental to their relationship made logical sense, but Dante wasn't the conventional guardian or brother for that matter; he cared for his happiness and whatever fostered it was fine by him. It was and would always be the smiles that counted, the fake to protect his crumbling psyche or the authentic too overwhelmed to be concealed, reassured he delivered on keeping true to his promise to Nero that first night. The lump that formed in that moment was back to haunt him, growing to enough a sphere when the boy placed his forehead on his own. "Please understand-"

"Vergil, can I borrow you for a second?"

They didn't hear the door open but it closed right after, sounding more of a command than a question. "Right on cue," yet neither made a move to break from the intense grasp. "I'll be back in a second."

Nero nodded, descending slowly to plant both feet on the floor. "I'll be in my room. I have one more star to get."

He knew he meant the game. "I don't get it; the reason behind it makes no sense apart from the story telling perspective."

"That's because you fear nothing. You don't need bad images to overlay other worse ones."

Unfortunately for the twin, he missed the implication entirely setting his plate noisily into the sink, returning to his side at the table. "Thank you for breakfast," he said, reading the situation and the smell coming from the frame that stood in place; at the same time, Nero threw his arms around Vergil's neck as he picked him up and set him on the table, wrapping his arms on the smaller body as he kissed him harshly in rushed, careful strokes of his tongue, begging him to do the same; it turned feral in six heartbeats, unforgivingly deep by Vergil's standards as he tangled his fingers in the white locks, pushing their tongues further into one another's mouths with no remorse to the value the kiss held between them, acting on impulse and short time with nothing to savour but the aftermath they'd suffer separately.

Vergil placed his hands on the inner thighs at his hips, utilising the solid leverage to regretfully pull back from their tamed covet and doing the complete opposite to what his older brother would; he missed his touch even though he was right there, panting heavily at the onslaught to his senses at being brain-dead for thirty five seconds. "I hate you so much."

"No you don't," he said, returning for one last lingering peck for closure, watching Nero's eyes flutter closed while relishing the unscripted contact by lightly teasing his jaw at the base of his ear as he melted in a cluster of power. Blue space warped before his eyes, feeling the bend in time and space between his legs first as he slid off the table and ventured to his room, fuzzy and mellow, perfect for finishing his research task and then tucking into some horror that would make him smile.

True Dante teleported into his room to see his brother pacing it's length with the cell phone in his hand and the brown case file open and spread on the huge desk; fifteen A5 single-sided handwritten pages were laid out in order of importance, starting at the beginning with initial assumptions and unconfirmed detail, progressing to findings conducive to speculation and then moving to previous charges, background, wanted lists, fled countries until finally a three-page spread on the case and trial that tipped Lars off the scales of rationality and the circumstances thereof, including answers to questions Dante wasn't ready to hear. He looked to the desk and back at his boiling frame, calm and collected in every etch furrowed but unmistakably shaken to his core, infuriated by the bluntness of the unofficial police report in the familiar handwriting.

He walked to the desk and looked at the paper, touching the crinkle of his trademark heavy hand and shutting his eyes, feeling the haste and ire in the elegant cursive. "That was Hanson. Lars didn't come home last night."

He was expecting that. Where on earth was that idiot? "Okay. Let's go then. I won't know where to start-"

"I do." The elder twin tapped on the oak with the corner of the cell, hovering over the confidential, stolen notes that may be a necessary lead to the right direction. "I want to you read that-"

"Please don't make me."

The lump from earlier hadn't gone away. "You'll regret it if you don't." Vergil moved behind the expanse and pulled the chair, making a full circle to wheel his brother by the shoulders and plonk him on the spot. "See if it reminds you of something. I'm right here if you need me."

Dante threw his sibling a defeated look, picking at the first page and trying to be subjective from an outsider's standpoint and not the man pining for Lars' life and safe return. Vergil knew this, keeping a reassuring hand on his shoulder at all times, lightening the burden of the hours it took for him to construct an illegal report with his own feelings mingled with fact, made scarier now that he was reading a full dated account of the honest emotion and turmoil he had gone through to get and keep the personal digging to a minimum and under wraps, making countless international phone calls to get Nero out of the abuse and into a safe home. They never had a chance to discuss the experience: it was Hanson who had dropped him off with no Lars in the idling car, and he hadn't seen him since.

The first few glances of the page had some stand out words that implicated little with less evidence, giving a biased view of the felon as a narcissistic, obnoxious brat too good for filth and worth less than the gum on your shoe, equating him to 'a devolutionised monkey with no regard for human sustenance or well-being; a true work of art if art were shit.' It sure sounded like Lars wrote it, chuckling every so often at the way he was being described doing normal, everyday things; it picked up at page four when he began noticing the bruises and limping, the layers of clothes on some of the hottest days they'd experienced, the isolation of forward and back to school and his new home that left a bitter taste in Dante's mouth, focusing solely on the changes in the teenager as an indication of the onset of foul play; page five took a decisive turn in smaller handwriting to fit more detail, assuming this was written after the many phone calls outside of the state – seven accounts of sexual and aggravated assault, drug trafficking, both sides of prostitution, assisting children illegally over county borders and selling them in slave trade, two counts of first degree murder and thousands for petty theft – and he'd managed to slip by from place to place without a whiff of mouldy cheese to the police left him dumbstruck; the background section claimed one decree to its name: FIFTY SEVEN YEARS OF AGE; LAST KNOWN ADDRESS; ONE OF THE MOST WANTED MEN IN THE FREE WORLD! He had managed to slip past owing to a son who was a successful lawyer who had been born from a rage-induced incident of sexual abuse that had counted for his first victim of murder; he no longer practiced law and his whereabouts were unknown. Lars' own personal account of the kidnapping was used as full proofed evidence in the court and before a jury, with unknown motive that seemed to be the definitive nail in the coffin, receiving a life sentence for the only crime of his brought to trial. He now walked scot-free and under house arrest by the strings of his damned son. Lars was relocated to a different jurisdiction and refiled the case after hearing of his bail a few months after the press release, being shut down multiple times and powerless in the eyes of the law, carrying out his normal duties and reporting to the same Chief but in a different vicinity owing to his grudges with the state.

He set the final page down with a heavy heart, understanding his judgements and emotional condition he'd endured alone for the very first time; it was dated August, the one month anniversary of their guardianship, and the last time he had attempted to make contact with them. "It hurts reading this."

Vergil rubbed his brother's shoulders. "Turn the last one over." He did as he was told; on the page was a lone paragraph on the back in blue pen. It read: _"The policeman on duty of the homicide believe him to be guilty with a single piece of evidence; the woman he had killed uttered one word to the officer before passing, what he believed to be Constanza. The suspect was startled hearing the name, charging at the officer at the unexpected detail. We believe this is the only facet that ties him to her, excluding his son, and can conclude that there is a connection to Constanza and her untimely passing. FUCKING DICK!"_ He almost laughed. Almost. "He probably stole it after the trial and copied them while no one was looking."

Dante went back to the page with his suspected address, indifferent rage seeping through the surface of his unblemished skin. "You think this is where he is?" His eyes caught the black and white photo Vergil has purposely left in the folder, squaring his jaw at the photo that left slimy, guilty residue on his fingertips. "You're telling me the same fucking maniac who nearly killed Nero now has Lars by some freak force of nature?"

"I'm one hundred and thirty nine point five percent sure he's being held up there-"

"How? He's a first tier; he's indestructible."

Vergil couldn't recognise his own voice. "He's also a traditional; the wives' tale of Holy water and salt still works on him. Strangely, not the wooden crosses."

"Then why are we still talking about this-"

"Hold on for a second." Dante was as cool as a cucumber with no remnants of Vergil's partial blind-eyed irrationality in giving his kin a chance for revenge, taking the place of the level head who had always succeeded in talking him down from his bloodlusting high horse, hoping to settle the same set of blinkers on his head that prevented him from ending a fight that wasn't his own to finish. Lars would be too proud to admit defeat at fighting for so long, and the least they could do was leave the human for the right hand of demonic justice to take care of; with mercy being one of his weaker suits, the responsibility of his punishment would rightly be taken up by the fiercest creature currently biding his time on the earthly plane. "Brother, we have spoken on many occasions and sometimes joked about destroying this very person, and I need to know that when we go to this address you won't jump to any conclusions until we have concrete proof this is the man-"

"What other evidence do you need? Everything is in front of you."

His tone was deadpan, void of humanity and fuelled by a fire so treacherous it made Vergil's flesh crawl. "You can't be angry. I know you are, but you need to calm down – I know how far you can go and being in that body will make it worse."

It was, and it felt amazing. "Rage is a precious thing, Vergil."

The elder left his side and sat on the pointy corner of the desk. "Don't pull my own lines on me-"

"I won't lose control, brother."

True Vergil wouldn't be fooled that easily, observing the effervescent black smoke his body gave off when the unoiled cogs in his mind worked overtime. "That's the same thing you said to me before you killed those kids who attacked Nero, so forgive me if I won't believe it a second time." They locked eyes, his brother's as intense as his brooding own. "Dante, we were tasked with rescuing him. Let's do that and be done with it. I don't want to get near him in case I hurt your body, and you should offer the same courtesy to me."

Dante had trespassed the boundary where blame would successfully penetrate his thick skull. "Why are you doing this? Where's my ruthless killing machine of a twin brother?"

"Logically speaking, he's looking at me."

That earned a half-hearted chuckle at least. "Vergil, he has Lars. How do you expect me to not rip his spine from his body and offer him a handshake because it's not my fight?"

"Because you're a good person-"

"AND EVERY COURTESY I GRANT YOU AS A LIVING THING IS REVOKED WHEN YOU HARM THE PEOPLE I LOVE!" His outburst threw him out of his chair and onto his plush red bed, crinkling the sheets as he sat back on the soft giant; with his hands at his side he took a staggered breath, raising his head to see his brother watch as he allowed himself to crumble, seeing the happy façade disperse into the air in particle form and faced the true emotion that he'd kept silent for four years – saying he missed the bugger was a great understatement, wishing for visits he knew wouldn't come owing to the fragile state of Nero's human mind after Vergil's skilled magic. He never said he wouldn't see him again, and the thought of it becoming a promise he was meant to keep rang true to his nature of the ultimate protector, too stubborn to cave in his own desires and reach a fictional limit where he could no longer handle being away from them, and knowing Lars he'd stick to his guns and loyalty to his request by the twins with the risk of putting the boy's thoughts in jeopardy. At the time they thought for it to benefit all five parties and Dante was cross enough to agree; now here he sat, close to tears in front of his brother in pure irritation and distress for the series of events that were going to unfold and what would be asked of him mentally and emotionally, adding on to the unlabelled plastic bottle he had kept tightly closed. He rubbed the wetness from his eyes and clasped the silver strands at his disposal, constricting his hands in agitation at how deep a simple phone call and pieces of paper had cut him. "I'm really starting to sound like you, Verge. You must be proud."

Vergil stood from his post on the desk and stood between his legs, peeling his hands out of his hair and smoothing it back, playing with the two silver horns that naturally fell forward. "I know you're angry-"

"I'm not. I'm furious and I'm tired, that's all. I know I don't have the strength for this and I have to do it anyway."

The hands moved from the tufts to his temples, moving in concentric circles to relax the distressed chunk of raging power. "I can go alone."

That simultaneously was and wasn't an option; the can of worms the boy unknowingly opened brought another element to the table – the welfare and care of his older brother. "I have to watch you for Nero; he'll never forgive me if something happened to you." Nothing would, but convincing him of that was harder than it seemed; either way you looked, true or physical form, the circumstances were the same for both, and offering to go alone on the rescue mission placed the two at fault equally.

He stood closer and brought his head to his chest, returning the gesture with a pair of strong arms around his brother's back; they would handle themselves professionally given the job status, but there was one more angle they needed to take care of, made harder by their circumstance and the subject matter. "What are you going to say to him?"

Dante sighed heavily with a twitch in his eye beating in rhythm with the thump in his chest. "This is the first job we're excluding him from. He won't go down without a fight, but I'm guessing my face will soften the blow."

"Not really. He'll be harsher with me than he would with you. He'll listen to you, and I know you'd also want to be the one to break the news to him-" Vergil's heart began racing at the idea, abandoning the comfortable moment by grabbing the phone on the desk and started dialling. "I have an idea."

"What?" True Vergil pressed the call button and held the device to his ear, resuming his spot in comforting his kin. "You can't say that and then start a phone call-"

"How much do you trust me?" True Vergil tilted his head to the left, not waiting for an answer as the phone began ringing.

Vergil made his way to Nero's bedroom, securely in full uniform with an unrehearsed speech in his head; he had to stay strong and not succumb to the guilt of leaving him behind where the mission called for his safety first and his ego second, not willing to have him scarred by a personal endeavour or risk the chance of his memories flooding back. Their determination to giving him as normal a life as possible wasn't ready to be unhinged by the unpredictable actions of a psychotic maniac who couldn't let go, dragging the past with him for nothing more than to tie the sole loose end that had managed to crack the code on the evasive strategy he'd followed his entire life. If what he read was true and they were going to find the demon in the same way he had found Nero, there would be nine levels of hell to pay and none as forgiving as the deranged justice system he thought so lenient of in the first place. With just a deep breath at the foot of the stairs, Vergil leaned comfortably against the threshold of the boy's bedroom door, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching his fingers fly across his laptop keyboard and scrawling notes on a pad of paper, immersed and dedicated in his work like the perfectionist he was. Nero sensed him before he could properly knock, setting down the ballpoint and walking to him with a solemn face that could melt butter, quickly changing to compliment Vergil's melancholy. "That look suits you and I don't like the feeling I'm getting."

The hybrid moved off the post and looked at his screen, providing fond memories of pastry as he doubted the influence of the fight inside him. "We got a call for a job a few minutes ago."

His face was indescribable. "Alright, I'll get dressed-"

"You can't come."

He was fast, halfway to his wardrobe for his makeshift uniform when his words stopped him dead. "Why not?

Vergil crossed the room and sat on the black sheets, tapping the space next to him. "The nature of this job is too dangerous. It's not that we don't want to, but we can't have you anywhere near where we're going."

"That doesn't explain why," he said, cautiously accepting the request. "I thought I was improving-"

"You are. This is a personal thing."

"You're leaving me out of a personal thing?" Nero practically jumped off the bed, negating the atmosphere Vergil was going for. "Where's Dante? I'll get an answer out of him."

Nero took two strides forward with a grip on his wrist stopping him from going further. "Don't make this harder than it already is-"

"Where is he?"

"He asked me to talk to you because he couldn't."

It didn't sound like him. "He's no coward; he'll talk to me himself-"

"I never said he was, but he wouldn't agree-"

"What are we dealing with? Have we encountered it before?"

It wasn't the prey they we worried for; it was their actions and his equal and possibly opposite reaction. "This is a different kind of monster."

This was the moment he'd lived to regret having his memory erased. "I've been studying like you asked. I'm ready."

"We know you are, but not for this-"

"What is it?" It wasn't in his nature for Nero to back down, and he was determined to leave with them. "Say the name; I'll mention all its properties word for word out of that damn brown book."

Vergil was slipping. "Nero-"

"You can't leave me out of this-"

"And lose you? We can't do that. I can't do that"

Nero raised his voice slightly. "I've gotten much stronger-"

"I won't risk the uncertainty for your life. There is too much at stake with this one."

He wasn't swayed. He needed to do more digging. "I don't like the sound of this."

Vergil stood, hearing his brother fiddle with readying their arsenal and prepping his exit in the middle of their argument. Big mistake. "Trust us on this one, Nero."

"You will have my trust when I'm next to you-"

"YOU CAN'T! NOT THIS TIME!"

"THEN TELL ME WHY!" He never knew there were words that could shake him. "IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO EITHER OF YOU AND I WASN'T THERE-"

"Nothing is going to happen."

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Nero's voice broke for a split second, unable to contain the throbbing in his chest at being denied a birth right by the man standing one foot away from him. "I HAVE BEEN TRAINING MY ASS OFF SO I COULD PROTECT YOU TWO, TO FIGHT BY YOUR SIDE, AND NOW YOU'RE ASKING ME TO STAY HERE WITH NO OTHER INFORMATION? HOW DO I KNOW WHO TO TRACK DOWN TO AVENGE YOU? HOW DO I FIND THEIR EMAIL ADDRESS TO SEND DEATH THREATS AND HATE MAIL BEFORE I SLIT THEIR THROATS? MY ANSWER IS NO; I CAN'T DO WHAT YOU'RE ASKING OF ME-"

"There is no other choice." He reached for his shoulder to soften the blow.

Nero swatted it away. "Don't do this, Vergil. Talk to him; convince him to bring me along."

"This isn't up to him either."

Things were just starting to make sense. "Then WHY AM I STAYING?"

"BECAUSE THINGS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME IF I ALLOWED IT AND LET ANYTHING-"

"IF YOU ALLOWED IT?" The indignance showed all over, wrinkling his eyebrows at what Vergil had just said. "I DON'T BELONG TO YOU!"

"YES YOU DO; YOU ARE MINE TO PROTECT AND IT IS ME ALONE WHO HAS THE RIGHT TO TELL YOU WHEN YOU CAN AND CANNOT MAKE YOUR OWN DECISIONS." Somewhere, floating amid the secret crypts of ancient artefacts and lost passages of time, existed a book with three pages: on the first, an introduction to the implication of the lone sentence on the next page, beseeching the reader to never utter the words to their partner; the third was dedicated to thanks and a short list of ten names to which the sentence was said, documenting the status of the acquaintances which were all unfavourable; the second held what had just stemmed from his mouth. Vergil pressed his eyes closed and bit his tongue, daring to face the worst version of confused love and hate staring back, straightening his shoulders and standing proudly to his full height, deadening the connection of his face to his overthinking, depressed mind; his face fell to the floor as he watched his bare feet lead him to his desk, turning his chair to the waking screen. "That didn't come out right-"

"Dante's waiting." Nero would say anything to keep the apology from fizzing out of his mouth.

Fuck. "What? No, listen-"

"I did. You've made your message loud and clear."

He had already switched off. He wouldn't get through with Mjolnir, not a medieval battle axe owned by Steppenwolf, and not a hammer made from Antarctic Vibranium. There was one way not to go about it and that was the method he followed. The fragments of his restraint lay on the soft white carpet around his feet unable to reach its former glory by stress of time and desperation, gazing at the boy who went back to his work, hands calm on the sensitive mouse scrolling through unreadable black and white scribbles that resembled words. "You'll be getting a visitor who could use your company."

Short and sweet – they could catch up when he arrived. "Fine."

He rethought opening his mouth to dig the hole deeper, taking the steps needed out of his room and closing his door gently, turning to the front where his older twin stood with their weapons; a quick apologetic glance was all he could handle, grabbing the katana that was offered to him and taking the lead in leaving the abode, waiting for his brother to join him in the middle of the quiet street. Dante was at his side in no time, gazing into the half-open curtain of Nero's room that shifted with the breeze and observed the motion of him wiping a wet trail on his cheek, blinking his gaze into focus as they teleported to Lars' previous place of work.

They stood outside the decaying Greystone building smelling of strong bug repellent, tobacco, leather, and fresh paint; the bright yellow lettering hovering on fluorescent lead piping getting its tri-yearly touch-up, facing the road for easy location for the scared and feared. It was big and gloomy and intimidating with a row of cars near the entrance taking up every space down the small corner of the road. They were thankful they hadn't brought the Corvette or the Ducati, their stay shorter than the time they'd have to search for parking; Vergil's coat floated behind him in a blue whirl wind on a sunny day, keeping to the objective and wanting it to be over to get back home and sleep, waking only to fulfil his duty of making dinner. "I need your focus here, brother."

"I am focused." True Dante stuck out his hands, palms to the road; no shaking. "See? Calm as a volcano."

The automatic doors had a purposeful delay for the CCTV cameras to have a one eighty degree look at each creature that stepped through the glass doors, connected to the highest technology of facial recognition and satellite tracking they had yet to use; it was always spotlessly clean under the veiled clause of the fiery three-headed dog being the recipient of their filthy carcasses should they be caught not cleaning after themselves, or even worse facing the wrath of the commanding officer who put the policy in place – Lars. The sterile smell was thanks to the small underground morgue that lied empty for most of its existence, a single corpse occupying the chilled space for three days at most; its teal walls made it look like a children's hospital, and the officers on duty made it seem like one. The waiting area came equipped with tasteless coffee and equally tasteless water, magazines donated by various knitting and crochet committees scattered around town, and an empty fish tank that had seen better, cleaner days. One of the two officers at the window had just sat down for brunch – three doughnuts and two cups of coffee – when the twins skipped the line and went to him, approaching the glass panel ready to be ignored and cause a sufficient ruckus for the Superintendent to leave the huge lounger and yell at his subordinate for not doing as instructed and following the protocol to fulfilling a simple request by a citizen. Jerry behind the counter looked up as Dante knocked on the panel wanting to catch the man off guard, turning his head back to his long line as they shared the same glimmer of amusement: the trick here was that this was usual etiquette for the station and it's community; seeing the identical faces conspire directly with the Chief meant confidential business that was going to blow up the next day on the news where their collective, creative intellect would come up with something more than neutralising a biological threat or something to that effect. The people knew they were the faces of both the beginning and the end of something horrific, happily scooching their pole position to the two-man rescue army that came knocking every so often. The line looked to the officer snubbing their call, taking a collective deep breath at his brashness to their urgency. "We'd like to speak to the Chief, please."

True Vergil was well-mannered to an extent, his pet peeve of being denied his query shining through more in the easy-going body he was in; the uniform licked the tip of his finger and turned the page on the car magazine he had no intention of reading, keeping his eyes trained from the two standing at the window. "Line's over there, pal."

He held his head down as he took a bite of his ringed sugar. "But I'm talking to you."

"I can't help you."

"Who says so?"

"That piece of cardboard that says 'CLOSED'."

He was going to have fun with this one. The bout of people next to him agreed with his decision. "I'm asking for your help and you're ignoring me."

"If you were here five minutes earlier it would have been a different story-"

"So I could be in heaps of trouble seeking help, you would deny me my privilege of your protection as a citizen of this community for the sake of your snack losing its freshness?"

Vergil wouldn't go as low as to use the stereotype to his advantage, but this man in blue was making it very difficult to not throw insult upon insult, too high for his level that it would fly over his head. "For the last time, line is over there."

He left the hybrid with no choice; he would have left peacefully and joined the line had he not been Vergil. He wouldn't have been in the line, but that was beside the point. "SALAZAR? SEEMS LIKE YOUR ROOKIES HAVEN'T BEEN TRAINED PROPERLY!"

The uniform sat upright in his chair at the ungodly S-word uttered so blatantly loud through the interrogation rooms, sounding the signature squeak of relief of his leather seat as he stood and escaped his hot office, walking briskly and tidily when coming face to face with the unnecessarily handsome and dangerous twins; he knew the reason for their visit and it was delayed without cause, the culprit standing at attention with pink icing on his chin. "You couldn't call for me?"

The poor human was speechless with an irresolute bladder. The Chief was no slouch in work mode and flawed in following the rules with a fine toothed comb, making him a respected and unyielding force to be reckoned with the city hadn't seen in epochs: he was five feet nine inches of born and bred law enforcement, straight out of law school and into the force under the exposed holes of the justice system and actively making a shift in career where he held more power and authority in drawing conclusion from fact and assumption, a perfect complement to the uniqueness that was Lars in his entirety. He was as tenacious as they come, spurred forward by the persistent forces to right the wrongs of what he was capable in twenty hour shifts of madness and many other countless all-nighters, working endlessly in a town that was fatigued by impurities and lost its vigour to fight back at the slightest inconvenience of the balanced scales being tipped off its equilibrium. The twins liked him far better than his predecessor because of his violent nature and no-nonsense attitude, only ever taking shit from the missing officer owing to it being due. "Sir-"

"I can't understand why you couldn't process a simple request; you received such high marks in the survey for your approachability and computer skills. What happened?"

Salazar was taking the piss while his subordinate tried salvaging what he could of his reputation. "Chief, I had no idea-"

"You didn't need an idea. You needed to read the file. Why didn't you read the file? Jerry read the file, right Jerry?"

Stapler in hand, he was in no way going to back this man up from neglecting the only instruction the Chief had warned on their first day. "Right."

"So why didn't you?"

"Chief-"

"You don't like cars; why are you reading that magazine? Are we lucky enough to see an appropriate reaction to your allergies today?"

He didn't have allergies, apart from forks on chalkboards. "I'm not sure what you mean."

He definitely didn't read the file; Salazar stepped back and ushered the twins through the corridor of interrogation rooms. "Make sure he goes nowhere, Jerry."

"Right."

He led them to the usual place, holding the big iron door open for the demonic pair after him; Vergil walked straight to the coffee, spooning the dark dust into two big cups while waiting for the kettle to boil, pouring a glass of ice cold water and setting it in front of his older sibling. The chief watched this unfold as he took his seat, completely perplexed at the face and actions unlike he was used to, looking at Dante as he squeezed his brother's hand in thanks and taking the wrong seat on purpose. "Things have been a bit complicated the past two days."

He was brought his coffee the way he liked it, nodding with his first burning sip. "There's one person in this galaxy capable of flipping you both on your axis. Synonymous with ulterior motives and magic, is he?"

"You've guessed correct, Salazar." The informal lining suited the brother who spoke them as he disproved being called anything of rank by the twins; they were asked to call him by his first name and Vergil would do as he was told and Lars' influence would mean be called by his rightful title by Dante, but that he could live with. In most standards, his status outranked the Chief by far, which was why they were such an efficient team to begin with. "Hanson's a piece of work, but he had reason this time."

Hanson never did anything without reason, and they very seldom made any sense; this must be one of those cases. "What is the condition?"

He took a sip of his water. "For us to learn something."

"Learn something? To what detail? To what degree? In what circumstance?"

"We have no clue." Vergil returned with his coffee, setting it carefully in front of him; he found his seat quickly and mindlessly stirred his drink, clinking on the sides of the thin ceramic as his eyes and consciousness wandered to anywhere but the subject matter, focussing on the red lines of string connecting black and white photographs and newspaper clippings for their recent murder investigation. He was there but he wasn't, the stress of the past and future blocking off his ear canals for anything to soak through and process, gazing endlessly to a spot on the wall half an inch right of Salazar's hazel eyes. "My brother learned something not too long ago, but we're still like this."

He nodded along, knowing the problem. "The keyword here is 'us'. Have you learned anything new?"

True Vergil hated how perceptive he was. "I haven't."

The officer smiled warmly, worriedly turning to his left where the younger brother walked, moving his head with the direction of the crimson thread. "Until then, I hope you don't mind me calling you by the faces I see in front of me."

"That's fine; we've gotten used to it-" The man couldn't tear his eyes from the blue figure, reading the words without comprehension and wisdom, a beautiful blank face facing fact and discomfort at the on-goings of the depleting world he had sworn to protect; Vergil touched the pictures and outlined the suspect's faces, drawing out their perceived innocence with his fingertip for him to eliminate the good he chose to see and seeing them as they wanted to be. The Chief swivelled in his chair back to Dante, grabbing his mug and holding it between his hands. "He isn't having a great day. I'm sure you understand."

He tapped his foot nervously on the steel floor in a monotonous beat that set the twins closer to their mind's edge, looking for an open spot where the worried limb missed a beat or stopped altogether, letting a tired breath slip through the tough exterior. The younger twin turned as it slowed, comfortably folding his arms and actively wanting to be part of the discussion. "You're here about Lars. You know where he is."

"We think we do." Vergil moved closer, playing with the ear of the brown folder hiding in his inner coat pocket. "Hanson gave this to us; he thought there may be clues hidden somewhere."

He took the proffered folder, flipping it open to the smaller pieces with Lars' black scribble, skimming the important bits on every page. "Hidden? If this doesn't smack you in the face, then you're blunter than a paper plane in a gunfight." He stacked them in their proper order, turning the stack over in his hands. "When he got word the case was going to be closed for good, he got to the files before they reached the shredder." He read the added extra in blue on the back, enlightened by the new information and sceptical because Lars never used blue. "I didn't know he kept them."

"We're going to that address," said true Dante, drinking the cold coffee in one go. "Lars makes sure to tell you everything, so we're keeping you in the loop just in case."

It was such a Dante move that Salazar couldn't help but feel proud. "Is there anything you need?"

True Vergil nodded. "Someone to arrest him."

"You're looking for a uniform?"

"Please. Preferably the one who soaked his pants in pink urine."

They couldn't have chosen a better candidate. "He's a good kid: focused and reliable, regardless of what you saw. He's having a bad day too and you caught him at the wrong time. You can trust him to follow your command, I swear. He's fucking fast and has incredible aim."

"There won't be much commanding from our end, but it's safer to have the police on our side first."

Dante stood from his seat and the Chief followed, while Vergil walked toward the door to open it. "That's where we plan to stay. You're going now?"

Dante bowed his head, glugging the last half of his water and turning it face down on a piece of napkin. "Someone wants a good few punches in."

"Just leave enough for a follow-up trial. Chunks can't talk."

Vergil halted, turning on his heel to face the officer. "He was talking about Lars."

The three men made their way back to the waiting room with the twins anchored on either side of Salazar; the previously full station was now vacant and replaced with heavy navy blue outfits, gold accents and military boots, all standing at attention for what their boss had to say. "Listen up everyone; I'm gonna need someone to-"

"I think I should go."

The small voice from earlier was loud behind the bulletproof pane. The room turned with the demons, observing a determined face in a complete contrast from when they had tugged at his drawstrings. The room couldn't have been more shocked at having him offer his service than to be coaxed. "You haven't heard the specifics."

"Don't need to."

There was no doubt in his voice, no fear to backtrack and no way to talk him out of it – it was all they were looking for. "Alright then," he said softly, turning his focus to the room of his underlings. "Never mind everyone; Weasel has offered himself as tribute."

It fell silent as the officers sat back in their seats; the Chief went to the one he called Jerry to file some paperwork for the tribute to sign. "They call you Weasel?"

He was caught by surprise by the demon in blue, bending significantly to quietly ask of the meaning behind the name. "I'm really good at slipping through tiny spaces."

It was certainly better than rat, bat, or octopus. "What's your real name?"

"Troy," he said, removing his police issue peak cap and stretching out his hand. "Weasel sounds better. Two syllables sound stronger than one."

Vergil shook it. "It does. Why did you volunteer?"

Weasel moved from behind the counter and next to him, getting close enough for a hushed talk. "I was part of the first extraction team – Team Alpha it was called – and we were stationed at the exterior exit points of the house." He scratched the skin on the back of his hand. "This is going to sound dumb, but I radioed in a warning to him about the deadbolts on the door as per protocol; it was something as stupid as that that caught his attention and he made me feel so great for picking up on the detail. He'd tell a different story, but if all I needed was one insignificant role in a secret mission to make me look up to him as he stands on the highest peak of our standard, I don't want to imagine what an influence he had on a lifelong friend. My life changed that day, and I need to thank him properly."

That explained the whispering; the only people to know of the secret mission were the two teams involved, forbidden to speak of its nature to anyone else. The blue demon grabbed him by his shoulder, slightly jealous of the manner in which he worded his confession. "Thank you for not using the past tense."

Troy was called across the room to sign the papers, waiting for him to remove his hand than to frankly shrug it off. "I won't let you down, sir."

After adding his signature to the official documents, Salazar ordered a car to be brought to the front of the station while walking the officer to the door; the glass panels slid closed behind them as they stood on the steps, waiting for the official vehicle to swing by from the garage on the other side of the lot. "I need you to listen carefully. Those two are by far the more deadly end of what you're going to see today; they need you to make an arrest, that's it. You will not be in any danger but heed everything they say to you. I need you to be alert and represent this academy, am I clear?"

His posture told him to look forward at all times. "Yes sir."

"I don't have to tell you that those two possess power beyond our comprehension, but I reiterate that you will not be in any danger. As you are one of our best and have been with us a long time, you will recognise the man they are rescuing. I beg you not to react under any circumstance."

"Yes sir."

The Chief looked back inside, tapping his wrist to get a 'coming' mouthed to him from Jerry. "If anything looks suspicious on the outside, report it directly to me on my cell. Don't call for backup. Don't put on your siren. Drive leisurely and act surprised if you hear any noise coming from the house they will be entering and do as you would normally."

"Yes sir."

"Also-" he pulled a foreign object from his holster into the open, screwing the silencer off and handing it to him in two pieces, "just in case you need some extra firepower-"

"No sir." He pushed the firearm back to its owner, shaking his head like a puppy with water in his ears. "That is your favourite. It means so much to you-"

"And I'm entrusting it to you, so you better return it intact."

His eyes rivalled the moon in size and depth at the deranged metal sitting too comfortably in his grasp, the weight of it heavy with purpose and downright gorgeous to behold; he turned it over in his hands and saw its legendary score, the four letters carved into the barrel that held more credence than the gun itself. "That's a silencer."

Salazar smiled broadly, veiling a chuckle. "It's a loud gun. You will return safely, understand?"

Troy holstered the gun and hid the attachment in an inner pocket, making sure he could feel its whereabouts at all times. "Yes sir."

The car was in view, driving down the small stretch of road that connected the station to the mini-highway. "Good. Get going; they'll meet you there."

The officer climbed in without direction and hurried toward his destination. Salazar ventured back inside for a proper greeting, seeing the twins stoically hype themselves for the short trip ahead, praying for a threatening journey to the Underworld for the criminal's licentious soul – if he had one was another question – wishing for the best of the worst to nibble at bits and pieces of what humanity he had left, altering his life to implore death on arrival. No, that sounded too tame for what he deserved; nevertheless, there were three entities waiting for a punishment his language couldn't bear to withstand, imagining the black imbroglio slowly being sucked out of his broken skin and bone, witnessing his body deflate like a bouncy castle struck by a power outage and then blown back up again, unable to patch the holes so the darkness keeps pouring out of his kneecaps and nostrils, relishing in the ferocity of his screams of pain for thousands of patient years, granting respite only in the second it took to change up the torture method. Good times. He smiled outwardly at the noble re-enactment, inwardly bowing to an invisible audience of his sound mind. "Both of you; one piece – have I made myself clear?"

Dante licked his lips and slanted his head. "Don't tell me what to do."

He returned the smirk, following the red-clad hybrid to the front door. "We'll bring him back, Chief," said Vergil, shadowing the dense footsteps through the erratic glass door and finally disappearing in a gust of distorted reality, leaving the waiting game to be played by those eagerly awaiting Lars' safe return.

It appeared worse than it was described under the greying backdrop, not properly taken care of judging by the standard set by his neighbours and making it an insecure eyesore against the thriving colour of the backdrop. Dante stared at it in repugnance without doubt it was where they were headed, crinkling his nose at the assortment of scents he gathered on the silent street: kids were at school, their parents at work or catching up on reruns of their soap operas with their early tea, beggars fast asleep in the park on the other side of the road. Some mothers had begun prepping dinner that gave off the smell of raw meat, the council workers smelling of freshly-cut grass, overpowered by the target he managed to locate. For as long as he could recall, Lars always had an amiably dangerous smell to him; a marshmallow with an eye patch holding a gun in one hand and a blade in the other, so to speak – like his bullets were filled with xylitol instead of normal gunpowder; an inviting chaos whose power was underestimated by is looks and charm to any human that intersected his path. Dante followed the humming trajectory to the derelict front door, scanning the tranquil surroundings for purposeful wandering eyes and coming up empty; another for any sentient beings and zilch, just in time for the squad car to park on the side of the curb one joining street away, jogging to the twins to await instruction. "We'll be in and out in not time. Make sure to capture as much as you can while you're in there, but don't get close to him; we are here to retrieve an officer, not lose one."

Each uniform came equipped with a nanocam the size of a bloated full stop that started recording the moment an officer was in full uniform, and nothing would make him happier than to see the felon in unspeakable and humiliating pain over and over again. "I'm meant to make the arrest."

Dante was surprised to see his younger brother conversing with the armed official, talking to keep his nerves from getting the better of him. "Deep down it seems like you want to be part of it. Just don't get in my way."

"Yes sir."

As much as he loved the title, he knew his brother would enjoy it too much; a lone drop fell from the cloudy sky and onto his nose, looking for more of the unpredicted rainfall. "Vergil is fine."

"You're in charge, and I'll address you as such. I want to see him suffer."

The brothers were convinced they made the best possible choice under pressure. "No human should see what's about to happen-"

"Fine by me. He doesn't deserve to be punished as a human."

The twins were beginning to like him, becoming less of a victim of relentless teasing and more of a partner in their heinous mission; it was admirable diving in headfirst into the unexpected, but that was his job, compelled stronger by the incident at the reception desk and the Glock 41 poking in his ribs. Jerry had explained the gist of the file he had missed along with the basics of the relationships connecting the three demons, placing more focus on Dante and Lars for the sake of the objective, and thereafter completely understood the atmosphere of urgency he'd detected after they'd left the interrogation room. The three-man army walked up the six or so steps to the front, preserving their noise and presence to not alert the human or his hostage of their plot; the demon had probably sensed Dante on the curb, yet disclosure was the last worry on their list, wanting to rip the Band-Aid and pick at the scab until it profusely bled. The policeman stood in the same pocket in the wall, taking a deep breath to reset his focus on the job, looking to the possible shadows under the door. "Don't zone out on us now."

Weasel gave them a smile, pulling the silencer from its sheltered pocket. "I'm zoning in, sorry."

The younger indulged in the final normal few minutes before he lost his composure and involuntarily lost control of his rationality and allowed his brother's animalistic instincts to take him over, considering it the best solution than anything he'd come up with. "Do you have a family, Troy?"

The uniform nodded. "Starting one: I have a fiancé at home and two more months for my baby boy."

He was reminded of his own that he'd never have. "That's great-"

"We'll get him out safely. You can have your turn after that." True Vergil wished to gesture to his kin for future reference but let him bask in the moment, knowing that little stood between him and their aim, and yet all he could think of was Hanson, what he was going through and what the undying younger sibling had flowing through his uncertain mind, portraying a cool head but disconsolate under the shell of deceit and not fooling twins in the slightest. The hybrid switched to the task, giving the man what resembled a smile. "And please do – your babies would be so beautiful and smart. If you have a girl, I call dibs." Dante overheard their exchange, his human side shining through in melancholy at the cuteness of the token and the likelihood of it never happening; Weasel moved to the front door with his assembled weapon in front of him, turning the knob and pushing the door inward. "He didn't bother fixing it after the first incident, so he keeps it unlocked because he has nothing of worth in there. No home insurance either…" He went through and inspected the sitting room and kitchen, imparting a thumbs up for an all-clear on the small room. "You go on ahead. I'll keep an eye on the perimeter."

They gave him a nod, stepping in sync into the lounge and standing at the same spot as Lars did four years ago, more outraged, cruel and less good-natured with double the strength behind the door he did replace. _He's definitely in there; I can smell him._

 _Do you need more proof?_ They were able to cross step one off their list – ensuring he was behind Lars' disappearance. _His demon is calling out to me, Vergil. He's crying._

Dante held his eyes to the door, unwilling to put his psyche at risk of collapsing with his miserably excited face. _What are you going to do?_

Vergil looked to his elder in controlled wrath as his eyes changed from a clear blue to a molten red. "What I said I would," he said aloud, placing his palm in the centre of the steel egress.

The noises on the other side stopped for time to stand still; Dante flicked his fingers to activate Quicksilver, supporting the incredible dynamism bursting forth from Vergil's hand that caved the door into specs of unequivocal doubt, falling to the floor like impoverished grains of sand through the hourglass, hovering, afraid to reveal what lay behind the open space. Vergil saw his hair first, flung over his right shoulder as his head lolled to the left, eyes dead in having his attention drawn from the personified odium in front of him to the familiar faces fuming in unbridled hate.

For the first time in three days, Lars found enough strength to drop his shoulders in relief, tiredly smiling as a lone tear smeared his bloodied cheek, dripping down the grey tape on his neck as he lost consciousness; Constanza turned, rotating on his haunches with a rudimentary grin the world didn't ask for, faltering in the milliseconds it took for Vergil's fangs to triple in girth, length and repulsive aspiration, sounding a deafening, cataclysmic shriek as he launched lightning fast at the terrified human.

* * *

Nero sat up in bed after thirty minutes of trying to fall asleep in a cold sweat, jolting his brain awake but pleading with his tired body to not fall victim to the same punishment a few hours prior; the single nightmare had become more frequent, more real, with mixed and added detail fresh for his unstable, fatigued mind to process for some seconds before the pictures all withered away, leaving him in pitch-black darkness kinder than the incessant plague of botched memories haunting him when it saw fit. He wished he knew enough to piece the horror together, but each new instance of detail clouded another, pressuring him to remember what had gone missing and how it fit into the tale as a whole; the gimmicks his brain played was ample to make him believe he didn't need them, rolling with all the punches for the hope of a good night's rest tormented by the impeding factor of not fitting the partnered fragments of the sleep-long riddle together, and as of an hour ago, would happily endure endless summers of bad dreams if it meant getting Vergil's final expression out of his senses; every time he closed his eyes he saw the anguish like flutes on a Sunday morning, contrition chiselled in his smooth skin and branded in confusion under the deeper layers of his flesh. He shouldn't have pushed so far and permitted his rage to overtake their unconscious need of his safety, but it cut him deep too, solidifying the notion of their joint belief he couldn't handle himself without proper trial – did this mean it was all over? Would Vergil convince Dante to not let him fight as their equal? Was this a ploy to letting him down easier, blaming the conveniently spaced outburst at the nucleus of him being at fault? The more he thought, the less likely it seemed an impartial outcome, but he wasn't off the hook yet. He dug his palms into his eyes to catch the random downpour beyond his windowpane, rubbing them awake as he moved to the bathroom to freshen up and staring into his vanity mirror demanding an answer from his reflection to the true situation with the twin; he teetered on the edge of cracking the blue conundrum, getting closer to the ultimate goal of understanding his complex thought process all squashed by an involuntary cluster of mixed emotions and testosterone thrown into a blender of golden fizz and one bad decision that may have frayed the threads of their already tangled connection. The morning went swimmingly; how was this ending possible?

He, however, promised himself to remain frantic – it may have been his persistence that caused the end result, but that hadn't changed the obtuse truth emanating from the cyan mystery: he was no object to be owned, no treasure to be controlled and thereafter placed on a shelf, and certainly not 'his' based on the lone-sided angle of their contractual pledge. When Nero had approached him at the start of the year for the wager, it was Vergil who emphasised the 'no strings attached' clause, making it blatantly clear it was just sex and anything else to be prisoned behind a triple-bolted, spellbound iron door locked behind a reinforced cage made of tungsten and an electrified titanium thread web that cut upon accidental contact; it was Nero who suffered in silence with calls to his rationality going unanswered, not enjoying for what it was but what it could be and screwing himself even deeper into a bottomless spiral staircase of ambivalence, taking two steps back for every step forward and evidently never crossing the finish line without losing a piece of himself floating in the ether that was his fading composure. He splashed his face with freezing water and gave his teeth a quick brush, watching the rusted cogs of his brain slow with the decision he needed to make; his puffy eyes did wonders in speeding the process of blanking the last few enduring hours, giving himself a quick smack on the cheeks as the doorbell rang for his visitor. He had no clue what to expect, and given the myriad of customers that had walked through the front door, he had his open mind equipped for anything except what stood on the stone steps on the other side. The human smoothed his outfit one last time – black skinnies, calf-length combat boots and a thin maroon long sleeved V-neck he rolled to his elbows – fluffing his hair to a presentable standard, leaving his bedroom door ajar and inhaling good thoughts as he briskly crossed the room and turned the knob-

-to someone completely out of his comfort zone: the figure was the most human he'd seen, standing taller than the twins and screaming sinful mouthfuls from head to toe; he wore the go-to of old fashion classics in an oversized white V-neck t-shirt under a plain zipped jacket, normal blue jeans and white sneakers looking like he'd walked off a runway and onto his doorstep; his hair was shaven on his right side, wet and windswept to his left for added effect while glowing emerald eyes stared back at the baffled topaz, concomitantly giving one another an impressed once over as the shock subsided. One full minute passed with flickering orbs and gaping mouths, both forgetting basic manners to greet the stranger in front of them. The visitor kicked things off with a captivating smile, triggering a pink dusting of shy to appear on both of them. A familiar feeling gnawed at the back of Nero's head, unable to shake off the notion that he'd been in a similar turn of events and that the guest wasn't as unknown as he had initially assumed – the aura, the smell, the inviting warmth reverberating through every pore was too memorable, recognising the presence but not the face. Basking in a good memory that had been wiped clean by a force of unprecedented circumstance, and damn wasn't it unfair that the tower of man before him hadn't been kept a spot if his theory were true. He probably knew everything about Nero, and he couldn't do something as simple as categorise a gorgeous face. Why he forgot a face like this in the first place did an injustice to his appraised memory. This can't be happening, can it?

The guest had one hand in his back pocket while he balanced two delicious-smelling iced coffees in the other, dark chocolate drops and caramel sauce on a pyramid of sweetened whipped cream untouched by the rain and not sufficient to drag his gaze away from the moss green melting his soul from the outside in. "Hello," he said, daintily and gruff against the moistened backdrop of the deserted street, peaceful raindrops falling to the ground; he caught a glint of sadness in the boy's eye, trying to mask the unnecessarily bothersome spark that refused to die irrespective of the grin the creature was tugging from the depths of what good he still maintained. "Have I come at a bad time?"

One would have to be blind not to see it; with his superhuman vision and keen nose, slipping through the cracks of his overly delicate senses was less probable than finding a green jelly bean in a field of grass. The human shook his head gently, concentrating on the three open buttons showing off bits of his muscle chest. "Are you the one I'm expecting?"

"I think so." He rested his frame against the doorframe and stretched his arm outward, smiling sweeter than the monstrous serving of sugar over their drinks. "I come bearing peace in liquid form."

He didn't look like he needed company as Vergil had said, taking the liquid goodness from him and moving out of the way to grant him safe passage into their home. "You're a godsend, if you don't mind me saying."

He turned to face the door as he closed it softly, hiding his face in the cooling wood. "Not at all-" Nero was at his side with two clean white towels, handing it to him as it caught the corner of his eye; the man took one from the stack and chuckled gruffly, quickly concealing the inhumane cuteness with the drying fibres dabbing at the drops that were dripping from his scalp. "Thank you," he said, his face still deep in the towel at using it for his purpose instead of doing it the easy way, setting his body to an insane temperature and have the droplets simply evaporate back into the air, but who was he to turn down the courtesy of the badass softie he'd grown up to be? Knowing him for twenty four hours wasn't enough.

The stranger pulled the towel from his face and stood patiently at the door watching Nero be the perfect host, setting the drinks across from one another and escaping to the kitchen for something extra; he fussed about in cupboards and drawers, opening Tupperware galore and sniffing the contents, wiggling his nose at the good scents and pulling out the best of the bunch and arranging them between other treats; the other man took his seat and observed him from a distance, melting at the trouble he went through in trying his best to make him comfortable. He hadn't changed at all, going into the motions of doing his own thing and following the tune in his stubborn head and voiding all other sentiments concerning his train of thought and as the outsider all you could do was wait until he finished his checklist – which he was doing now – triple checking the crunch on the biscuits while opening a packet of gummy bears and marshmallows, getting a fervent tingle in his fingers as he hovered over the numerous snacks and choosing the stronger sting and crossing his heartstrings he was right, walking over with the sweets and placing them at the centre of the table. "The house is a mess, I apologise." The stranger looked around for the hell of it; there was no mess unless you included the spread of mismatched confectionary where a gummy ear was sticking a tad too much to the left out of one corner of the bowl. He scoffed at the ridiculousness of the thought. "I'd offer you something to drink, but someone had to think ahead."

The guest took a sip of his drink and bit his tongue, using his lips to chomp off the tip of his cream to mix in with the coffee. "My apologies; I could go out, get some flowers and we can do the introduction again."

His hand found the offending gummy ear, relishing the quick death as his teeth found the crease of the squishy neck and pulled, biting down in satisfaction at the sound of his head being pulverised by two perfect sets of pearly whites. "There was no introduction: you just stood there like you wanted to take a bite out of me-" He kicked himself; was he so nervous he resorted to flirting as a viable means of conversation? It didn't sound like he was having the best of days, considering he was spending the beautiful rainy day indoors. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"Don't worry, I have that effect on people." Nero was just describing what he saw, wasn't he, seeing the image flash against the closed door at the second of their meet and sitting across from him while he nommed the chewable; he watched his guest neatly fold the material and putting on the seat next to him, turning his attention to Nero who waited for the first word to gage what exactly he was dealing with, straight in his chair and straw at his lips, fulfilling his duty one prolonged second at a time. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward focusing on a spot on the black tablecloth to get the words out. "Why did you bother with all of this?"

That wasn't what he was hoping for. "What do you mean?"

They both went for the marshmallows. "You don't know why I'm here?"

"No."

"And you have no problem with that?"

Nero took another and stuffed his other cheek. "I was told someone was coming who needed company. My apologies if this isn't what you were expecting."

He wasn't going to tell the boy that he expected nothing less. "I haven't given you a reason to trust me-"

"Does it matter?" He got straight to the point; Nero liked that. He sat back in his chair, relaxed, tranquil and allowing himself to be mesmerised by the power he had no clue was at work. "Irrespective of who you are, Vergil made it sound like you were close and that you could use a shoulder for the time being. I'm going to respect that because I owe them my life. I don't know your relationship with them but I won't jeopardise it by being an ignorant dick." The boy drummed his fingers on the table as his sassy smirk faded, toying with the edges of the table for the truth to his questionable actions. Questionable as they bordered reason; reason bordering a prickle in the back of his head that beat in tune with the sparkle in the stranger's eye. "It's not every day I get to meet someone they share a bond with, nor have I ever heard them call anyone a friend, so blame it all on intrigue and pure curiosity. I know you're comfortable here, and I want you to feel that way without them being here." Also, it was raining and he was wearing white; self-explanatory. "With that being said, try anything and I will have your ass on a stick. A sharp one. Dipped in needles and expired sprinkles."

"How appropriate," said the man, "you still have your humour." He went for a green gummy, nausea setting in as it wall-jumped down his throat. "Dante put the idea in my head that I couldn't be alone and I went along for his sake, but I can leave if you want me to. You look like you're in a bad spot which is persuading me to stay, and much like your reasoning we are pretty close so I would hate to upset you if you wanted to be alone. This is your house and your solace is priority."

Nero halted mid-bite on a cookie, breaking it the rest of the way as he wiped a fake tear with his hand on his chest looking touched from every angle; he was on the brink of breaking his promise while getting fuzzy from the inside out at the comments from the kind unknown. Supposedly unknown. "You make me get all sentimental and then offer to leave?" His recovery was just as fast, wanting to fall victim to the fluffball of cotton and eroticism he knew not from whence the description stemmed but went with it for the utter truth behind every feature. "My day is empty. I don't mind."

His face lit at the change in mood, folding his arms over his chest slinking a defiantly playful look on his stunning face, biting at the corner of his lip that made Nero forget how to human. "I'm too handsome, correct?" The same corner falling victim to his teeth was ambushed by his tongue who suffered the same treatment with an extra pert smile, crossing his right leg over his left as the comfortability ratio tipped beyond the scale of plausible. "Knew it. It's been five minutes and you're already addicted."

So what, he could read minds now? Credit to him he wasn't that far off, but there was something else at play between them and the boy was annoyed he couldn't figure it out. "You aren't human, are you?"

The answer snaked through the brickwork when he walked through the door, but he'd learned rather to make sure than assume; learning his lesson well with the twins, the exposure to the other existing paradigm wasn't a question of where they hid their wands as it was being thrown across an entire field at a simultaneous Devil Trigger, bringing to life the fierceness of the peril they lived in and the deceiving looks of normality that came with it; the only way to tell was in the face – the intensity of the eyes, mostly – but even that trick had failed him multiple times. The other shook his head slowly, tongue still in place. "What gave it away?"

Nero gestured instead of giving him the win, circling a pointed finger around his own gorgeous mug covered in biscuit crumbs. "I wouldn't associate all of that with anything remotely human."

And Segway into some digging. "Do I look familiar? I most certainly don't have 'one of those' faces-"

"You don't, and that's why I'm certain." Nero arrogantly took his first sip of the peace offering, his eyes rolling in his sockets as the maple pecan hit the back of his throat – how did he know? He looked between the plastic cup and the sassy creature, wondering just how much he failed to recall about him. "What species are you?"

He doubted it would help, but what was there to lose? The man across the table looked impressed at the casual instigation and bluntness, smelling Vergil's influence five miles to Thursday. "One hundred percent Incubus – one of two left-" He held up his hand knowing what was coming. "And before you ask, I'm not too sure what happened to the rest of them." He looked up as Nero stopped chewing on a sweet, the definition of his genus taking its time to drill through his skull. "I'm not going to bother asking – I know you're human."

That seemed to snap him back to ogling the beef in a standard manner. "What on earth would make you say that?"

"That." He pointed to the long thin line gracing Nero's inner right forearm; whether or not it was in view he knew it was there; the blemish in question got a disproving look from its owner, twisting his wrist for the faint scar to show its ugly face, following the stripe from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. "May I?" he asked, and Nero narrowed his eyes as to what he was asking for; he got up from his seat and shooed the boy one chair to his left, plonking on the warmed spot and handling the limb with utmost care as if breakage were a possibility. Apart from the twins, no one else had ever approached the wound in fear of the stereotype behind it, and therefore the reality was left to their own imagination so far away from the true atrocity; the man studied it like a hawk and made him uncomfortable at the start, hastily turning to fascination the longer the man stared at the lighter area of skin. "The scar is too clean; you don't look like you've physically fought for your life; you're too intelligent, too quick, too educated to fall into the category of filth. You don't care what people think of you; you trust, you care, you love; you have goals, dreams, and you keep those alive with determination." He couldn't resist running his soft pale finger down the unwanted keepsake of a memory he no longer had, silently stroking his hand over the mark that neither he nor Vergil could remove. "You're sweet, you're loyal, and above all else you're far too human to be a demon or any other supernatural creature. Your worth surpasses that."

Nero underestimated the sincerity of his touch, observing the passionate stare at the sordid flesh. "All that from a scar?"

Wounds were his specialty, and so was the ability to use his advantages of the events that had led up to that single point. "I'm very good at reading people." He outlined the boy's fingers with his own, ending his gentle flow across his wrist, looking up and seizing the hypnotic glower to catch him off guard at the centre of his thoughts. "That's what happens when you look into my eyes too long."

Neither of them were planning on moving their grasp; the scenario was too comforting and a welcomed change from their shared decrepit mindset. "In my defence, I'm still trying to figure out where I know them."

Nero was asking for it. "Were you on your back when you saw them?"

He knew where this was going, unable to keep himself from the boyish sneer that crept upward from his pelvis. "No."

"Then I plead the fifth."

The boy was amazed at how quickly the pent-up gloom dissolved under the miniscule contact and authorised dirty talk, saddened that the contented silence led the man to believe he had overstayed his inspection of the mark; he sat back in his chair and was handed a gummy bear with its head missing, the murder solved immediately by Nero's noisy chewing. "Can I at least get your name?"

He popped the jelly into his mouth. "Hanson," he said gravelly, like it burdened him to utter his Earth name. "I can't give you my last because I might burn."

"That's fine. What do you do in your spare time, Hanson?"

It sounded much better when he said it. "You're gonna ask a sex demon what he does for a living?"

He took another sip, rolled his eyes some more, set it down and turned his body toward his guest. "Not anymore."

It was too early for 'I own the club you hate the twins going to'; the foundation was sturdy enough for the brickwork to be laid, following a set path toward a good outcome for the reunited pair. Hanson had crossed his fingers before leaving his apartment that there was a shred of him Vergil had left behind, hopeful in his brilliant mind at making a connection irrespective of influence or fondness and that he wasn't outright refused entry on his doorstep; others would have missed it but he couldn't, the small glint of distinction in his eye being something he was obvious in spotting the second their eyes met. His habit of uncountable queries was nowhere to be found, feeling a pang in his lungs that he knew the answers he was looking for; no room for aversion or suspicion evident in his posture and demeanour, graciousness in his youth as he was so long ago. He had grown into a remarkable man – barely – and he appreciated the work the brothers had put in in raising the bundle of gruff, aggravated, hormonal joy. The demon would have to keep up the façade until his lawful guardians thought it the right time to tell him everything, and having to lie to him for the short time being cut deeper than it was supposed to. But it meant more that there was a cut to begin with, an opportunity to see him after he and his brother promised to stay away should it flood back and sway him to the dark side with all the chocolate chip cookies he could handle. Nero attempted to veil his contempt of the scar and its anonymous origin, setting it to meet the surface of the table. "How old are you?"

He needed to get him talking again. "Eighteen," said Nero, turning his head to him. "I'm not going to ask you the same thing; I was apparently off by centuries when I tried to guess Dante's age. Vergil took it as a compliment, so I guess the world lived another day."

Hanson couldn't have put it better. "Much appreciated. Us demons are quite sensitive when it comes to that-" He was losing him; circles of transparent apprehension bubbled at his feet, taking shape around his muscled frame and suctioning the bad air to fill his lungs that would later fuel his brain, allowing his mind to wander in the darkness that prevailed every so often. Hanson placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and halted the sphere's progress, waking him from the daydream that switched off at the mild crushing of his train of thought. "Hey, are you okay, Nero? If you wanna talk, feel free."

He failed to notice he never gave his name. "It'll bore you-"

"The Ice Age bored me; I doubt what you have to say will take that long. Maybe it'll help if you put your head on my incredibly broad shoulder and let me play with your hair. Tried and tested method; blame physics." He put his arms up in fake surrender and damn pleased with himself with a soothing smile for Nero, annihilating the remaining fragments of the fated seal he almost fell victim to. "It looks like this is doing a number on you; come on, we have the time."

The demon tilted his head to the side in the cutest way possible, prying the boy's memories to the surface while concurrently liquefying his manliness in one fell swoop. "It's disjointed-"

"Tell it that way. I'll try and piece it together."

Hanson was getting closer; the image reminded him of when they were in the tub the first and only night, pulling every detail from his mind vivid enough for swift removal by Vergil, making him relive the entire ordeal again for better relief when it all disappeared into a single location should the avenue need to be re-explored for what would be the most desperate and depressing reason imaginable. He grabbed two marshmallows this time, handing one over as an apology for not wanting to make his day worse. "I'm fine, really."

He took it in victory. "Okay. I don't want to force you. I'm sorry."

Nero felt it too, swallowing the puff in defeat as the corner of his eye saw a smirk edge its way into the stranger's whole body, pretending to twiddle his thumbs in the most obvious way. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"Absolutely not," he said, opening his left arm for the promised shoulder, twisting his face outside the boundaries of negotiation and surrendering the notion to gloat that Nero had no way of winning from the start.

The boy rolled his baby blues, shifting his seat closer to his destination. "Alright," he said, begging his body to remain awake as his true weakness was attacked by an accustomed sensation between his silver strands. Nero laced his fingers and massaged courage into them, remembering all he could for the pair of ears devoted to his troubles. "There's a room and I'm stuck in it; it's all fuzzy in an organised pattern and there's a monotonous ring in my ears. I'm sitting on a floor, naked; it's stuffy and it feels as if my bones are sweating, if that makes sense. I can't turn my head to look around and there's a bed to my right that I can see; in front of me is a hooded ghost that turns to TV snow when I look directly at it – it's laughing but I can't laugh or talk back because there's something in my mouth." He swallowed deeply, having his coffee handed to him by the caring figure; he took a long sip for the sudden dryness, the other man untroubled by the moments he took to gather his thoughts. "There's a huge explosion and the ghost dissolves into spherical pixels that fall through where the floor is meant to be and everything fades to black except for my body and a spoon that appears out of thin air. In the dip of the spoon is a tiny lily, crunchy like coco pops – any area the spoon touches shoots light rays downward into endless nothing. If I touch the spoon nothing happens; when I eat the grain, it has a horrible taste. Like expired meat and raw sugar cane. When I swallow it, the black changes to a deep green: I'm flying over green clouds facing a green sun until I miraculously reach a door. Sometimes I reach the door, sometimes I don't; if I do, I touch the brass handle and hear a gloomy laugh – the kind that's recorded and slowed down for horror movies – and the door is always ajar but I can't open it fully. I push and pull, and nothing. And when the door flies inward, there's this face, definitely male, just looking at me blankly. I can see two red dots where his eyes should be. He tilts his head in a sadistic, doll-puppet manner and he pulls me inside the room. After that I wake up; it hasn't gone further than that."

Hanson stared at the front door with an itch in his jaw, tightening his flawless features to hide the strain of his advantage of the knowledge of his rescue, but it went further than that. "Have you tried not eating the flower?"

He nodded into his chest. "The spoon changes into a small silver snake that slithers by and bites me. Over and over again. The confusing part is that I can feel it on specific parts of my body but they're scattered everywhere." Nero looked up for a reaction. "Making any sense?"

He kept it straight. "I can't say that it is."

The boy went back to focussing on his hands. "It doesn't bother me as much, but the aggravating part is that I always wake up dry heaving; I have to run to the bathroom because something comes up. It's happened every single time." There was little he could currently link it to, and bearing the incoherent babble of static and objects was too confusing for just his mind to understand. "But that's all I can remember; there are probably many things I can't recall-"

"How long has this been going on?"

"A few months; at first I thought it was because of stress I had for a test earlier in the year, but they continued well after that." Nero pulled away as Hanson's heart began to race, gazing to a mixed expression he didn't think he could see on the solemn creature; it lasted two seconds until he realised he was being watched by the boy, biting his mouth at the immediate change in his mood with one look. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

His arm sneaked away to his side. That fucking hybrid. "You think ghosts scare me?"

"What scares you then?"

Hanson buried his hypothesis under the numerous fuzzy blankets that made up his subconscious, leaning his head on the propped elbow shooting all his attention to Nero who became minimally flustered at the green gaze, bothering with the biscuits and sweets in a safer direction. "Physically? Nothing. I do dislike clowns, but if one ever comes near me I'll punch it in the face." He reached for his drink observing the young face at a really good slant – he had many – fixing his hair after being tousled by the improvised hug. "They didn't tell you anything about the job they were going on, did they?"

"Just that it was too dangerous for me, and I believe them, but sitting on my ass doodling research notes feels out of place while they risk their lives out there."

He was so headstrong; what possible tactic was there to convince him to stay out of something without telling him a stitch of detail? "Can I let you in on a secret?" There was no one within earshot, not a curious soul for miles down the dead street, but the boy felt obliged to lean into the small space that separated them and expected him to do the same, which he did, letting a manly giggle slip between the cracks of his brittle poise. Hanson strategically positioned the words at a tempting angle, turning the enticing attribute to maximum and proficiency on full blast, welcoming the break in his overworking intellect to test the waters of his overall resilience which he knew was going to fall flat. "It would take exactly two thousand years to produce a potion more potent than any other spell harbouring a thirteen percent chance of harming them; damage, yes, but not kill. To kill them, you need to be their father or one of his three best friends who would still have a tough time bringing them to their knees. Their lives are not in jeopardy, believe me."

His whispers were breathy at his ear, tingling with the accompanied tastes of his soft lips on the shell, sending imaginary pop rocks down the discs in his spine and spreading black fuzz through his veins. He was sure he'd felt it before as his form shook at how the message was shared and not the elements contained within, finding the three words that managed to seep through his cloudy sagacity. "Two thousand years?"

They didn't move. "They're stubborn fuckers, and the galaxies beyond our comprehension would mourn their deaths respectively, not even mentioning the army of the dead at their disposal who would set aside a few moments of their day willingly skinning and killing enemies left right and centre."

Nero listened until 'fuckers' and gave in, glancing around the room and seeing his freedom sleep atop his dresser in his room. "You wanna play a game?"

No better way to get your mind off approaching peril than with a couple of wins under your belt. "How good of a loser are you?"

There was something else at work; there had to be – the boy couldn't contain himself against the new challenge brought before him, slowly sinking deeper into the stimuli that was all Dante's fault, his mind heavy and doused in the melody of his erratic heart… And he stopped it right there, purposely moving along Hanson's jawline as he stood and walked to the kitchen. "I wouldn't know; I've never lost."

He had a feeling the Dante in him would show its white hair and feisty conduct- "Bring it on, you deep-fried asshole with taste buds," –and little did he know there existed only one other in comparison to his eerily cheerful guardian. "Beat me and I'll give you way more than stale bread and body parts."

Nero laughed as he opened the fridge with the insult making more sense than it should. "Have you eaten yet?"

Hanson mildly shook his head in reply, not realising being in separate rooms had an impact on their communication; he crunched the left side of his face as it hit him, tapping his foot under the table at the mistake. "No," he said, turning his head to the snacks he had laid out – Dante's cravings and training regimen too; he wasn't complaining. "Not much of an appetite."

Nero noticed. "You don't mind if I have something?"

"This is your house; do as you please-"

He chose to ignore the rest of his speech, checking the appliance for ingredients different from what he was planning to eat; he had already checked the cupboard for what he was looking for. "For interest's sake, and because I base your answer on everything I need to know about you… what's your favourite flavour of ice cream?"

No pressure, right, but his answer came in a heartbeat. "Sodomy." Of course it was; if Nero's mind was in the right place he might have ventured a guess similar. "Anything but vanilla. The concept gives me the creeps."

After turning beet red in the face at the implication, Nero busied himself at the smaller freezer in the pantry, changing his mind to rather indulge in some frozen yoghurt hidden behind a wall of vegetables that Dante refused to touch. At the dining table, Hanson endured every colour of melancholy, thinking of the description provided to him by Nero and the incredible shards detailed and yet concealed by the neurons in his brain, making unconscious thoughts clear but muddy enough to mask the more important aspects, giving the gist of his thoughts in the shape of a labyrinth with every exit blocked off by a portion of his soul he had lost in the effort while at the same time unable to bite through the toughened exterior of exposure to a much harsher climate.

He had taken faces.

He had taken intent.

But everything was still there.

Vergil hadn't wholly removed his memories, had he?

* * *

Lars visibly flinched at the gust of wind that came from the door, feeling the crack before it signalled a spinal displacement of his nemesis; the tough grip around his head was lifeless with a dead weight behind it, roughly gripping the sloppy jaw and shattering it against a strong elbow that curved around the other intact side of his face, morphing a claw to dig into his neck and cheek and constricting the muscles in his hand to crush the bone like cereal under the demonic power, twisting the skull with all its might to detach it seventy five percent of the way, keeping the central nervous system alive and well for phase two. Vergil bent down and grabbed the bloodied collar, lifting him to an easy position to be manhandled with one hand. "You said you were going to be calm about it."

He flung the semi-conscious body out of the room to land at the tactically sited furniture, throwing him in a sitting position against the foot of a very uncomfortable couch and having him ricochet on the hard base. "This is calm," he said, eyes blazing with the fury of one thousand soldiers going to war, breathing to satiate his sweltering lungs in approval of the serenity brought upon by his fair deed: this was going to be as difficult as it was rewarding, recalling the feeling moments after his blade had spilled seemingly innocent blood to sound just in his own mind, and taking things into his own hands for the second time felt equally as good as the first, seeing the frailty of the species so helpless against the power he rightfully abused for his ego. He looked to the grunting of the man in the living room regaining consciousness, doing his work for him by propping himself on the furniture unaware that his head was literally hanging on its last nerves; true Vergil moved from the corner of the room to place a hand on Lars' shoulder, infusing some of his energy into the fatigued life form that destroyed the tape into tiny pieces, withering as dust particles out of the lonely open window above the fallen demon. His child-like position held his ankles and wrists by rope, patterned around his bent legs in a BDSM fashion, palms and feet flat on the ground. Dante kneeled in front of the dilapidated form and worked slowly at the bounds, choosing the safer and lengthened route for as little damage to his skin as possible. "Please take care of him. Don't take your eyes off him, do you hear me?"

Dante's hands were involuntarily shaking as he unravelled the beige cord, moving through loops and slipknots meticulously for the twenty seconds it took to get them off and tossing them across the room, smoothing the black strands from the pale face that hastily regained its colour after the restrains were removed; he ran his fingers through his hair by intuition alone, his digits tingling at the life slowly but surely reverberating their way through his body. "You really don't know how much you don't have to tell me what to do."

The older brother's heart began skipping beats for every one of Lars' movements, as small and insignificant as they were, as he rose from his coma and back to the land of the living; much like his brother's affinity to Nero did he feel ten times worse with Lars, the significance of three centuries' worth of feeling huddled into the tiny frame hitting him all at once and breaking his heart while it continued to soar into his throat, so intently focussing on nothing else until his own voice woke him from his self-induced daydream, running his fingers down his neck as it pulsed with life. Mere seconds it took to kick in, confusion and lust hitting him at light speed the instant contact was made, delving into the true intimacy of their relationship that had never traversed his notice: they were one being split as two entities, two halves of a perfect whole that imperfectly fitted together into something greater than the sum of its parts, melting into one feeling, one emotion, one mind as the driving force of their senses in an attempt to constantly better themselves for the other, unable to give up until their rough edges were smoothed and their puzzle was complete, hindered only by their insecurities of their belief in undeserving of one another. The unbelievable flurry of corroding emotion swept the elder under his feet, learning the complexities that came with such a fierce love and the reward behind it, beholding the beauty of a tragedy of its likelihood to surpass a simple want or need but shaping into a reciprocal obligation where life without the other was impossible. Fifty two months had passed without any trace of communication for a heartless deed strengthening their bond in ways they both wouldn't realise. Lars licked his lips and the younger body fought with gravity to keep himself in check while he woke, shifting closer for a better grasp of the situation and a familiar face to sooth his temporary troubles. "You're not going to stop me."

"Let him have it," he said, shaking his head at the statement without second thought; the abrasions on his ankles and wrists soon disappeared with new skin, relief washing over them both as Lars fussed like a new-born with the uncomfortable positioning, sloping into the warmth of Dante's hand. The red hybrid shuffled closer for more, following Dante's thinking pattern and actions, allowing his heart to lead the journey of his other hand at his chest with a content sigh from the waking demon. "If you're going to ask for a reason, this should be enough."

The colour had returned and he was starting to open his eyes, looking to his right for an instant before resuming a minute rest to grab his bearings. "I'll leave it to you then," said Vergil, taking whatever reason he could to not leave his lover's side. "You can feel it, can't you?"

He nodded. "Dante, I had no idea-"

"Now you do. But if you'll excuse me, I have some bones to break." It wasn't the time to get sentimental with a reunion, even if the fibres in his body begged to grab them both and teleport to his shared apartment and nestle him under a gentle shower for as long as he needed to return to his final form. Vergil left the room and Dante heard the slow steps he took to his prey, calculating logic with the best path for optimal pain buoyancy. True Vergil remained in place as Lars stirred, frowning and straining his body inward in a stretch and relaxing as the first scream came from the man's throat; the amount of fear and unknowing contained within the sound must have hurt with a broken jaw, hearing another two consecutive snaps like twigs not too far from his head. He could hear his brother press at the frame and forcing the bone through flesh, his bulk adding fuel to the fire at the ruined pieces that were the easiest to handle.

It went quiet suddenly, passionately focussed on the man who leisurely blinked awake; Dante was patient, silently keeping his hands in place until Lars caught sight of the solemn image and immediately went on high alert for his predicament, grabbing hold of the hybrid's hands ready to pull him out of any harm's way. When he sensed no direct danger, he visibly relaxed and slumped back into position and wincing at the numbness in his joints; he coyly let go of the grasps, not expecting much from the man on his knees that was entrusted into his care. "I knew I sensed you outside." He reclaimed his hands, lacing their delicate fingers and bringing them to his lips, revelling in the unbelievable tenderness that he didn't know he needed until now.

Dante's mouth went cotton dry at the gesture, wondering how long he'd been craving the soft touch of his beloved; as much as he wished to keep it clean, his body was begging to be touched, standing at attention to every single one of his needs in getting him healthily back home. The frozen twin was caught unawares at the hypersensitivity toward the recovering man, falling more and more out of his control and into the hands of fate who shuffled the cards and dealt them as normal, feeling completely out of place at the strength of the pull he commanded over his brother's mind and body. His clear blues softened into the penetrating green, shaking logic back into his head as he sat on his knees between Lars' legs, thinking of the more neutral of questions to offer a helping hand. "Can I get you anything?"

He knew what was coming and nothing could prepare him from stopping it; Lars placed their hands at his sides, snaking his fingers from the intimate clutch and leaning forward to cup the hybrid's face in his soft hands, bringing their foreheads together and breathing heavily into Dante's slightly open mouth. They were both in desperate need of the caress that wouldn't come, the unanswered questions hovering amid their parted lips bringing a halt to their eager affection. "I can't bring myself to kiss you." Lars opened his eyes in defeat, pulling away at the last second to save Vergil from the unconscious impulse. "Not after what I've done."

There was no room for doubt for the things they had to talk about, and Vergil felt equally embarrassed that a kiss had the power to destroy a concrete gap built solely around their opposing thoughts on Nero's well-being. "We need to get you home-" Six consecutive breaks broke the moment, too quick for the human to realise what was happening as the pain set in, losing the compatibility of his arms and wrists with the worst still to follow – breaking each phalange in every finger one by one, moving up to each of his ribs and the slow process that was the rest of the spine attached to the pelvis. The elder twin turned his head at the vivacity of his scream, changing in pitch the further Vergil snapped him into tiny pieces of the man he once was, each new fracture burning deep in his decaying lungs as the only custom of respite the demon would give. He heard his younger brother move to the right side of his body, marking the lines of his ribcage with deep cuts to the bone and locating the sweet spot for the break that would push the broken skeleton through his paling skin. Twisting to his counterpart, a fresh pain had arrived in his chest, looking like an invisible hand under his skin that vibrated in pulses with his heart, making a gruesome outline that clung to his ribs. "Talk to me; what do you need?"

This was a good sign, illustrating the forced blood flow to the remaining parts of his body that had awoken, yet it caused him immense pain that was meant to subside as everything returned to normal. He examined all his vitals and nothing was out of place, forgetting one fragment of their demise that had been activated by his livelihood. "I need to throw up."

Dante stood quickly, stretching his hand for Lars to take. "Can you stand?"

He took it, using none of his strength as he was wrenched out of his seventy eight hour pose and into the hybrid's arms that held him around his waist, carefully grabbing his hips to not restrict the life descending to his legs. Lars nuzzled over his shoulder and true Vergil felt the best smile sneak behind him, relaxing into one another's embrace with Lars' hands snaking to the sides of his neck and peeling himself off his pillar of strength. At least he was able to catch the smile in all its glory, altering the older brother's frozen heart and intestines to crystallised red wine. "Ta-da!"

He need not overwork himself to save face. "I can carry you if you're still getting your bearings."

"Wedding style over a threshold?" Tempting, but his weakened state was getting stronger by the millisecond. "I'm banking on keeping that for later."

He needed to stop; not moments ago was he lifeless and confused, weaving amid the awake and exhausted realms of play with a groggy conscience in both instances. "Let me get you something from the kitchen." Anything to get him away from the automatic responses programmed into Dante's morality, doing something that may negate his sibling's perspective on the whole thing. He made his move; no budge. He looked up at the taller man, unable to find the words to describe what he saw; an emotion he had never seen in his lifetime and mindful he'd never see it again on another face, the smallest of breaths exhaling reprieve and thankfulness to the nth exponential while rubbing his cheek along the older twin's jaw. He bent his head slightly, whispering into the corner of Lars' mouth. "You're gonna have to let go."

"I don't want to," he said, snuggling closer in his arms. "This is really nice."

"I'll be two seconds. I have to make sure that-" A gravity-defying shriek wracked the piping in the house, followed by twenty three resounding mini explosions inside a deep used-to-be chest, "-my brother isn't enjoying the smile on his face."

Yet they all were? "Give him his moment."

He candidly refused to move, wrapping his arms around the twin and raking his fingers in the moist roots of his silver mane, tilting the shy face upward. "Lars, I won't be long-"

"Just… please." He tweezed the soft hair between his fingers like a foreign article, crunching clumps on his scalp to re-emphasise just how much he didn't want to be left alone. "I need to feel you."

His deep voice managed a nippy dip in the irresistible pool, tinting the request in galvanised necessity while he held Dante close around the small of his back; the twin hid in the crook of his neck, tasting the anguish and love flowing through his damp skin, lost in translation at giving him what he deserved after his ordeal. He ran his hands along the sleek black tresses disorientated from his usual stance, mixing his and Dante's feelings for the man and falling short of the impossible, shamelessly melting into the victim's flesh as Lars nestled butterfly kisses down the right side of his face. He took a deep breath and pulled away, keeping within the teal-coloured bubble of their longing and unease. "All better?"

"I will be."

Another echoing snap, another inch off his lifespan. "I'll be right back; use the bathroom so long."

He rotated on his heel to avoid his nakedness, exiting quickly and circumventing the scene in the lounge searching the kitchen cupboards for a slice of bread; the half loaf had expired one day ago but it would have to do, stealing a slice and allowing a tiny glace to the unlucky human that no longer resembled a living life form: blood pooled under him from the deep cuts and protruding bones out of his upper body, tears staining his cheeks from bloodshot unfeeling brown eyes that turned to him for help, attempting to rid his mouth from the gag Dante had in place. Every limb bent awkwardly, sometimes facing the wrong way, and he had done a fine job so far in fulfilling Hanson's wish. The smell was worse; kitty litter with added effects of faecal dust mites mixing with the crimson blotches made for a sufficient odour of oncoming death, looking at the lively blue coat who hadn't noticed his presence who eyed the next portion of bone to be pulverised. "How long do you still need?"

He did notice; he was just too absorbed in his task. "It's just the legs and face. Six minutes max-" He looked up to his flustered older brother; Lars was back to normal. "I told you not to take your eyes off him."

"He needs to throw up – I'm speeding the process."

Dante hurried to the non-existent threshold, hearing his lethal whisper call him back to the sitting room. "Wanna see something cool?" The younger twin needed no answer, shuffling like a puppy to the end of the body and gripping both ankles on the instep, pulling and unscrewing the joints like a loose tap, annihilating with it any chance of the man walking ever again. His muffled cries went unnoticed by the brother holding the stale bread, wearing a proud smile and nodding between the pair to his right. "Looks like he's been a fat fuck for a while; no fight anywhere."

Dante gave the dying man a horrific look and he swore he saw his life flash before his eyes. "Well then, seems you're doing him a favour."

"I am, aren't I?" Dante kicked the bottoms of his feet and he drew a deep inhale of toxic air, burning the patched holes in his lungs. "My niceness knows no limits."

He followed his trajectory and went straight to the bathroom, seeing the Lars he was used to standing over the toilet bowl waiting for the wanted pang of nausea; the twin reached for the tube of toothpaste sitting in a plastic cup, spreading a healthy squirt on half the slice, folding it over and handing it to him. The look of disapproval was a bonus, taking the offered… could he call it a snack? An abomination? The one thing he knew might definitely work? He raised his eyebrows to his lover as he took the dreaded bite, a big one, chewing and twirling it in his hands before his wish was achieved, falling to his knees and heaving the contents of his stomach into the ceramic bowl: three and a half days' worth of oatmeal found a new home, having Dante's reassuring hands in his hair and on his back the entire time massaging calm into the other parts of his body while he reluctantly rejected the only nutrition he'd received in his constrained status. "He cooked it in holy water and added salt instead of sugar."

Pity for him, it appeared to have worked. "That explains this."

"It activates with my conscientiousness; if I had escaped it slowed me down and he could catch me easily. Given his health issues, I could have outrun him anyway."

The true question was how he landed in the position in the first place. "He didn't expect someone to rescue you?"

Lars sat up against the cool tiled wall. "It's been three days. His ego gave up on the notion."

The element of surprise was Vergil's favourite, getting a genuine reaction to the brutality of his character and not the rehearsed standards society had implemented in television commercials. "Good for us th-" The last few touches could be heard from the other room, both demons wincing at the cruel display of his incredible power motivated by the vigour of his victim amplified with the amalgamation of fury and persistence from each conscious life form on the planet, doing the world a favour in utilising his skills for a good cause and mainly fuelling his own selfish dilemma in exacting revenge against the man who macabrely brought his family together, condemning the blameless broken bones to make him wholly terrible in the eyes of his brethren; his calves and thighs were no more, commemorating the final moments with a fitting animalistic mewl filling the entire house, down the stairs outside the front door and through the street, halting pedestrians in their routed path – the warm, reassuring face of the police officer waved to them with a thumbs up and a finger over his lips, carrying on their merry way away from the 'unwitnessed' police business. Dante moved to the door to give him space to recover, the twin slightly squeamish and facing the opposite wall with his back toward the target of their mission. "We need to get you out of here."

The demon was able to get most of it out of his system, rinsing his mouth at the sink and dabbing a little of the minty fluoride onto his finger, scouring his mouth to get a different taste from the revolting muck he was fed nonstop; he cupped his hands under the flowing cold and washed his face, using the filthy towel at his disposal to wipe away his fatigue and restlessness now that he was saved and in good company. "You don't have to worry about me-"

"Shut up," he said, rolling his eyes in Vergil's trademark manner, leaning onto the wall to his left and crossing his ankles in comfort. "That's the end of the sentence and I'm going to ignore it. You have no say when it comes to things like these, so know that comments like that are falling on deaf ears-" Apparently the distance wasn't to Lars' taste, stepping barefooted to the hybrid and resting his forehead on his shoulder, needing the contact in his revitalising state and settling both his hands on Dante's hips. "You're completely ridiculous if you think there's anything else that could occupy my mind."

Lars stood closer, stroking his nose along the stretch of sensitive skin on his neck, and Dante instinctively shifting to elongate the canvas for his pleasure. "I don't deserve you."

This was all pure Dante, turning his head in the direction of the rising gooseflesh. "Your loss."

He squeezed his hips gently. "Can we please go home?"

It was at that point that true Vergil remembered his non-existent clothing situation, his eyes growing to the size of smaller twin Neptunes as Lars snuggled between his shoulder blades in wholesome purity. He couldn't instruct his muscles to move and he didn't need to, his own soft voice calling from outside the other room. "Can I come in? Are you decent?" he said, a muffled noise in the background sounding like the most horrific call for help. "Weasel is going to wait for us to leave."

There was a chuckle on Dante's back. "I know him; good kid."

Vergil came through the rectangular hole in the wall. "He gave us a mouthful at the station."

He raised his head, biting Dante in the neck. "He didn't read the file."

"Salazar said the same thing."

Dante lifted his frame off the support and moved to leave, stuffing his hands in his front pockets and straightening his posture. "Let's go; I don't want to be here longer than necessary." He looked at his brother. _Take your time, okay?_

A few long strides and he was outside talking to the officer, ignoring the foul smell coming from the living – which should be changed to dead – room. "Well, you heard the man-"

"Just say it, Vergil."

Lars stood proudly at his full height, every scale of despondency carved into his inhuman features the more steps he took toward his beloved to pull him out of the supposed trance to the front door. "I'm not following."

He grabbed his warming hands, catching the impatient icy glare from Vergil as he was irresolutely frozen on the spot, stopping him dead in his path and killing the hurried mood instantly. "I know you have some things to say to me-"

"That can be said any time. Hanson is waiting for you."

He would have to wait just a little longer. "Dante hates me-"

"Can you blame him?" This was the second time he was challenged to tell the truth after having his blood reach its boiling point, still on a very high-strung perch of annoyance by getting his hands dirty at teaching the scum a valuable lesson in pissing off the underside of fucked up. "Gone for years without a word and you expect everything to be as if you never left? Expecting him to be all smitten during a life or death setting, called him on his day off for a job that he knows should kill him from the inside out?"

Lars wouldn't let go of the younger twin's hand. "How was I supposed to know they'd send him?"

"They?" He stepped closer and closed the gap. "Your brother hired us." Lars stood his ground, but radiated fear from the unpredictability of the fuming twin. "What else was there to expect? A hearty smile? A cake that welcomed you home? You won't get any productive answers out of me; the person you're looking for is at the front door where we should be too, so zone out of whatever the hell your mind is telling you to say and save it for later. I don't have the time or the patience, and I swear if I'm here for another minute both of us will lose something."

This kind of talk was risky given his status, but there was much to get off his chest: why not mask it under Vergil's disguise? "I know you're angry-"

"I've surpassed that." The demon rubbed at the hybrid's hands and his anger receded, seeing a dull grey instead of the fated red, wiping his eyes for a clearer mind and a better filter. "You disappeared, Lars: no phone calls, no emails, no letters or postcards, no way of way of him knowing you're doing okay. The only guarantee he had was that you weren't dead, and that doesn't sound as pacifying as you think it does." Dante clasped his hand tighter to bury himself in his persona, standing at the edge of his mindset and looking into the dark crevasse that was his valour to put everything out in the open, planting the seed that they would water when life resumed to normality. "You vanished into thin air. You left without a word." He stared at their link, grazing the top of Lars' hand with his thumb. "He needed you and you weren't there."

Something was different; he knew to console in tender moments like these, but the touch was new – scorching in passion and trying to hide it from him; something gnawing in his frame that he couldn't flout but pushed back for their benefit; the soft side of him shining through showed his turmoil in not being able to do anything to help with the internal struggle he witnessed from a distance. "Vergil, you have no idea-"

"I don't, but we can't do this now, Lars. I know you have a lot to say, but baby steps. Our focus is to get you home. I can't stress how much it's going to mean to Dante to get you home safe and sound."

He nodded, contritely letting go of the consoling limb. "I hope you can forgive me."

"It's not my forgiveness you need." Vergil led them out of the house. "Both of you are so fucking full of shit!"

Dante came into view with one leg propped on the wall of the concrete pocket while Weasel sat at his feet on the cascading steps, laughing at a transpired joke that wasn't as amusing for the red demon; he heard the heavy footsteps and reacted immediately, praying there were no visible scars for Salazar to lose his mind over. "The bastard is all yours, Troy."

"Fantastic," he said as he stood, dusting his uniform without realising his superior a few feet away peeking at his favourite gun in his holster, seeing the outline of the silencer in his inner breast pocket.

"I hope you haven't damaged it."

The voice took one second too long to register, turning on his heel at the handsome face and green eyes that shot cupid arrows straight into his heart, smiling as it bled while he drifted closer to death; he stood to attention in the informal setting. "SIR! I didn't see you theeeeeeeeeere-" he instantly looked in any other direction, having trouble evading the suitably proportioned lower half of his body. "I didn't see that either."

"I hope you will excuse my choice in attire; I don't know where he put my clothes."

Weasel glared at the ground where the shadow of the organ seared into his eyelids would haunt his deepest fantasies. "What choice? I don't know what you mean, sir."

He couldn't wait for the new rumour to find itself through the jungle of grapevines at work; Lars gave him a full smile as they passed the officer to walk down the stairs in an after-rain dusk glow, the clothed demons standing on either side of their treasure while Weasel marched into the abode, unfazed by the Theodore Gericault painting come to life on the floor and leaning backward out of the door to wish him well. "It's great to see you are-"

They were gone.

He shrugged and walked back inside, standing over the incongruous representation of the human body and commended the freelance artist at the quick sketch, walking around the living sculpture to admire it from different angles. He plucked his cell phone from his pants pocket and dialled a number, watching the shattered torso struggle to heave breath in and out of his lungs, inflating to a certain point and relaxing disappointingly at the tiny amount of oxygen he could take in at any moment. The phone rang on the other side, the kidnapper's eyes nosy for the fresh torture waiting for him. "Hi. Can you talk?"

Weasel heard him shuffle to his office. _"Did they get him?"_

"Yes. It was him." The officer looked at the lump. "I didn't mean to get your partner involved."

A deep exhale. _"Fuck, I'm so sorry."_

"Don't apologise. How fast can you get here?"

 _"_ _Ten minutes. Can you hold out until then?"_

"Of course. I can't do anything without you present; that would be a crime."

He opened a cupboard and claimed his Taser, giving it two quick clicks. _"Did you cuff him?"_

"He doesn't need them; the blue one broke him – literally."

 _"_ _Shit. Ouch. Vergil is a doozey, but boy can he fuck shit up."_

Yes – that was his name. He seemed so nice to him, but the results of his handiwork spoke wonders to the opposite side of the full spectrum he was capable of. "You had to hear it. God, I could have made sweet love to my girl in his agony."

The man chuckled. _"I'm glad my perception of you hasn't changed."_

"Thanks Chief; get your cute butt here as soon as you can. Bring ice cream."

A mini bar opened. _"There's only chocolate?"_

"Perfect," he said. "See you in a few." Weasel pushed the button to end the call, sliding it back in its place and pulling out the gun and silencer, assembling the magnum opus and giving it a deserving once over and laying it on its side on the floor with its muzzle pointing toward the grotesque beauty that made his heart grow three sizes.

The fat lard finally opened his eyes with a bizarre lopsided grinning to cater for his broken jaw. "I gnew I ghecognighed gat hgoice."

"Oh, I bet you do," said Weasel, the calm hate for his disgraceful father finally extending to a level of menace that was ready to ferociously burst from his pores, prepared for the outcome that was lawfully his decades ago.


	7. Pixels - part 1

The ball was in Hanson's court to make the next move; Nero's palms were sweaty from the mix of exertion and mental strain, wanting to predict the stranger's next impulsive move in the space between them. They shared an avid stare, unable to wrench their bodies from the intensely thick air amid their heated physiques with the first signs of perspiration falling down the sides Nero's face, looking for a signal to give away his partner's ultimate desires. The boy nibbled at the corner of his mouth as his guest shifted forward, closer, his cerulean orbs widening at the angle of his incline inhaling a sharp breath as he placed the red seven on the table. "Uno."

The human sat with a four-card fan in front of his face, two blue – a zero and a five – and two yellow – a zero and a two – without a clear path of knowing what single card Hanson held in his silk grasp. There were two ways he could play this: experimenting with a finite path to eliminate the colours he didn't have or to think about it strategically, feigning bluffs all around which may force them both to pick up cards until the game was reset and they could begin from square one, winning a game against his guest's four consecutive victories. 'Fuck it' he thought, thinking there was no way he could predict and single out Hanson's possibility from the deck, setting the blue five on the stack with a hint of hesitation and cussing a healthy two-pronged profanity streak as the other placed a green five on top, wiping imperceptible crumbs off his hands while relaxing in his chair. "That's the fifth one in a row."

He threw his cards on top of the pile and straightened them out, sliding them into their snug fit box. "When it comes to these things you have to get used to losing. But you gave me a run for my money and that's more difficult than beating me."

"Then why couldn't I beat you if I achieved something more challenging-" He stopped, inquisitively squinting his face toward Hanson seeing through his tactics; if he was right it was downright dirty, leaving such a secret to be figured out by the unsuspecting public. _'You can read minds, can't you?'_

The guest smiled, reading the message loud and clear. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I did it-"

"You're an ass." He set the box in the middle of the table and traumatised a gummy bear, sinking his teeth into its glued feet.

"Even if I saw your cards, it's not like it would have helped if you had control in playing them. As I've said, I can but I don't."

He was telling the truth. "Why is that?"

Hanson shrugged, claiming a cookie and breaking it into tiny chunks for his unsettled stomach. "It's in my nature to chase: knowing everything off the bat makes it cliché; plus, it isn't my business if you just found out you have an STD or that you're having financial trouble or that you snuck in a slab of chocolate between your mid-afternoon fruit salad and dinner. If I'm going to know something, I'd prefer to have it told to me than to snoop. I do have a fine print clause if you choose to lie to me or ask, and that's when I'll harness free reign over everything you have cooped up in that turtle shell." He ate the pieces slowly and they went down without contest, chewing each microscopic particle twenty two and a half times. "A big mouth with a filter is a beautiful curse; sometimes I wish the twins would just let go-"

"Dante and Vergil don't have filters."

His innocence preceded him; how cute. "Oh yes they fucking do. Those boys can swear the chastity belt off the queen of England if they wanted to. You either haven't heard it properly or never gotten them angry enough to hear it, that's all." Hanson ate the last pieces of his cookie, satisfied that he was able to get something into his stomach. "It's quite sexy when they get angry; scary as shit, but all I wanna do is run away and fake fall on my back with my legs wide open."

Nero would have paid top dollar to see that sort of accident, taking their empty plastic cups for a decent refill; it wouldn't be as extravagant but it would come close in taste, blending with it love in the form of concentrated sugar to make up for the trimmings that made it delicious in the first place – he flipped the switch on the machine and milk frother, adding a few extra French vanilla beans to possibly make up for Hanson's end of the bargain that had set such a high standard. The boy raided his fridge for the foodstuffs he had located earlier, piling them in his arms for the short journey to the counter and plonking them down, rubbing off the chilled essence that nipped on his flawless skin. "Do you have any idea where they went?"

He was waiting for it, surprised it took him this long. Had he actually succeeded in distracting the brainiac? "I do."

"Are you allowed to tell me?"

Indecision and optimism lined his query, scared by whether or not hearing the answer would make his day better or worse. The guest rose from his chair and joined him on the opposite counter, bending over the space with a face tempted to spill every bean on the planet, including the ones being ground and roasted at the other edge of the kitchen. He felt the pain of Nero not being told the mission detail, made worse by the idea that he possessed none of the milieu or the reason why his staying out of it was so fatally important given his missing recollection of every ounce of detail that would have come in handy. "The where is a bit complicated, and that isn't my story to tell. The why comes accompanied with a long soppy love story."

The machine beeped in completing its task, dripping the last drops of its creation into the round glass jug that Nero shifted to the counter, pouring their mugs three quarters to the top. "We have the time."

He drizzled the top with milk and scooped the fluffy top on both their drinks, passing the 'SHUT YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO ME' cup over to the incubus who let a small chuckle loose at the typicality of Vergil's taste in crockery, soothing his dry throat with the scorching goodness before setting it down and watching Nero slice and dice like his life depended on it. "The Underworld is ruled by a demon named Sparda; he's extremely powerful and has held the position for millennia because he's one for the people and is in favour with the human race, something his predecessors weren't able to get right. He has three friends with whom he shares everything." Hanson fanned his index, middle, and ring fingers on his left hand, counting them off as they were mentioned. "Beezlebub, one of the seven princes of Hell who perches on the steps at Sparda's feet, not caring for attention but simply acting as one of his trusted bodyguards – he sits at the point of the triad and you need to get past him to have access to the other three. In modern day language, he's what people call a troll because it's impossible to lay a scratch on him, given the nickname Bubba owing to his impressive flying skills and hate of cute things; next came Lucifer, the previous man in charge whom Sparda refused to banish, sitting to his left on a bronze throne, overseeing the inferior parts of the Underworld and the ultimate punisher owing to his brutality and not thinking things through in his random acts of violence. He watches over the worst criminals and the ones who try to escape, disciplining as he sees fit; finally, there's Astaroth, the Great Duke of Hell who was meant to take the title when Lucifer was defeated but surrendered the crown to the one who lawfully took it because he had no intention of ruling and as a result became his most trusted lieutenant, leading the armies of Hell to victory on numerous occasions and earning him the deft nickname Ash as he literally burned the enemy cities to the ground – not biased, but he is my favourite, sitting in a silver throne to Sparda's right with the seal of his army blazoned in onyx at the centre. This is the man we'll be focussing on for the sake of the story as you may have guessed." Hanson took another sip, boastful to no one in particular of keeping the boy's concentration as he chopped slower, looking over his shoulder at the unnecessary pause. "They were rightly named the evil trinity, taking position as the demonic counterparts to the holy trinity in Heaven, the tragic story of sworn enemies turned best buds that would go down as the most powerful quadruplet in their history of everything unholy but they are really great people. They're feared and loved by their respective communities, and they have the right amount of terror to scare the skin off a Chihuahua. Sparda is an incredible, moral man who lives by his rules only; charismatic down to the bone and incredibly dominant and influential, so it came as a shock when he took a hiatus from his throne and returned with a human wife and twin baby boys to raise and mould into soldiers and possibilities for his seat longer down the line. I say shock because the demon race has placed emphasis on keeping bloodlines as a pure as possible and limiting the interracial likelihood of cross-breeding between races but not the various configurations under the demonic umbrella term. The human race was initially thought to be a complete no-no owing to the extremities of the counterbalance of the very cores of the binding, but Sparda's blood prevailed in a successful birth with little risk to his wife too, and it was nothing short of a miracle. Obviously, the various communities had some doubts about bringing his sons back down to the Underworld, but I'll get to that in a moment. The twins were home-schooled for a short time, taught the basics of reading and writing, history, philosophy, philanthropy, astrology, and cooking. Later on they studied by themselves what they could, their hours of living a normal life drastically shortened as they got older and utilised as training time to join the military. I think I need to add here that Astraroth was in charge of everything, having a unique background where he knew much about a lot of human life, keeping a hidden library in his portion of the mansion he owned which the twins completely devoured. They all lived in the same house, so having access to it was a dream inside of a dream; dreamception if you must. It's huge. Like colossal, I'm not even joking. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. Those six were trained to be the deadliest, ruthless, disturbing creatures to ever choose to walk the plane they protected without permission, and it was through these normal battles that the people down below began to respect the twins as fighting for their cause, fully absorbed under the cloak of their demon halves and not likely to start a revolt against their own kind. You see, the population have been conditioned to believe that they are defenceless and were made dependent on the military forces to fight their battles for them by the previous kings, and although Sparda does much to eradicate that thinking, the stubborn ones remain true to the lore of their second chance at life and won't do anything to rebuke it. I'm getting off topic again-" He rubbed his fatigued eyes feeling the effects of no sustenance in his tummy. "I'm really sorry – this is how I tell stories."

He could listen to this all day. "There's no rush; tell it how you want."

Nero went back to his hacking but listened intently. "During that time, I can't say how old they were, but all six of them became more encouraged by the positive overall response and having more time to train, especially the younger twin; because they were sent out more often, they developed more complex fighting styles that were mixtures of all their original ones, and I can't begin to tell how strong these fuckers had become. The twins received private sessions with the original four that would occur on a weekly basis and little breathing space for anything else, but two of them were smart enough to fuse their business and pleasure together. Astaroth and the aforementioned younger twin had developed feelings for one another and the relationship was secret for a really long time; they kept a cool head on the surface and around their friends and comrades, but revered every moment they were alone together to talk about normal everyday things, maybe sneak in a kiss here and there, but if you had no clue what was happening below the surface there was no way you could have seen any spark between them. The only aspect that could have given it away was the fact that they were inseparable on the battlefield, and that was it."

Nero pushed the pause button on his workings, something bothering him as he took a burning sip of his coffee. "How do you now all of this if it was such a secret?"

All he received in return were flirtatious eyebrows over the rim of the white mug. "One day, the Underworld was under attack by its famed inter-dimensional nemesis, one thousand and twenty one soldiers pouring out of a portal and running full steam ahead across a wide open molten field in plain sight from Lucy's window-"

"Who's Lucy?" He hadn't mentioned her.

Or maybe he had. "Lucifer. We thought it would be ironic given that he is total ladies' man. Can't blame him either; my underwear sweats just smelling him across a room." Hanson emptied his mug, captivating an audience of one surveying the liquid travel down his throat. "Where was I?"

Nero seized the sharp knife, sighing to the ceiling. "Things running across a field."

He snapped his fingers in thanks. "Oh yes. They had no time to assemble any of the troops so the sextet went by themselves, armed with thirty or so weapons to take on a literal army of the bad kind of dead, meeting the assailants head on or innocent people would have suffered. Yada yada yada, blah blah blah, graphic detail, slit throats, torn limbs, screams of death, pus and intestines for days, they defeated every single mongrel that stepped out of the portal, but it was what happened after that that caught everyone's attention." Hanson turned around and took another biscuit, hoping for the same outcome as he resumed his posture. "The initial four are immortal; only they know this, and now you do. When hit by a fatal wound, all that would happen is a minute or two of darkness and then reverse rigor mortis sets in; they get up as if nothing happened and they carry on fighting regardless of what is done to them." He abruptly stopped, swivelling his head to the door thinking he heard the noise he had been waiting for, taking a deep breath to calm himself to continue; he quelled Nero who harboured a worried expression, moving slowly back to his prep. "Five bodies were strewn on the hot ground with the younger twin the only one standing. Like true movie fashion, he limped to one, that gigantic sword swaying with his exhausted body. In his words, and I will never forget them," clearing his throat, he stood tall with two hands on his hips, replicating the moment as best he could, "'every step I took, I felt my heart drop into the deepest pits of my stomach; that damn sword got heavier on my back the longer I looked at his lifeless form just lying there – there was no way he was alive. There was too much blood. But I couldn't stop walking. I needed to get to him; walk, crawl, run, I just had to. The closer I got, the more it began to hit me that he was gone.' So he made his way there, laid down his sword and said a prayer for the safe journey of his soul to whatever dimension he was going to be reborn in."

The switching of voices was impressive, confused by his choice of the important dialogue. "Why did you make your voice like Dante to say that?" The more important question was why had it only clicked after?

"Because it was Dante who said it." He had done the demon justice. "He kissed the supposed corpse that wasn't really a corpse, belonging to Astaroth, in front of the entirety of the Underworld; everyone was shocked because the gossip hadn't reached them first, but no one was more frightened than the couple when Ash woke up and he'd literally spilled the beans thinking that it was a good way to say goodbye. It ended up being a very nice hello in the end. That night they were called into Sparda's chambers where he politely asked them to explain themselves with two other witnesses present: me and Vergil. He was such a typical dad, driving them both into a corner and getting them to confess their omission; I can't recall what he said because Vergil and I were having a conversation of our own and I zoned out, but after all of that trauma he plainly asked them if they wanted to be together and they answered yes, and everything was fine after that. The castle was rearranged for their rooms to be closer to each other, eventually fusing their living quarters to become one huge apartment that was theirs."

Nero stole a leaf of butter lettuce and chewed. "Why you and Vergil specifically?"

He was perceptive as hell. "We're their siblings," he said, manoeuvring into the kitchen along the border with a hand finding its way to Nero's shoulder. "Astaroth is my older brother." He pointed at the pot to help himself, topping the boy's cup with a drop of milk to make the tar more tolerable. "They were the Romeo and Romero of the Underworld and it was the beginning of a long road of peace for the deathly plane: they fought by one another's side and the six had become more bloody powerful that the warring dimensions were now becoming allies owing to the superpowers that would surely conquer the world." Hanson's hand held the fresh cuppa as the other was gentle at the small of Nero's back, squeezing softly at the relaxing cluster of muscles moving with his arms. "But that all went haywire when Astaroth wanted to relocate to the surface with Dante and begin a different life far away from the fighting, wanting to show his partner something other than everything he'd ever known. Sparda had no problem with it, but what made it a tricky was that Vergil wouldn't allow it unless he came along: doing so meant the first, second and third in line for the throne would now live on Earth among the humans, and Sparda would have preferred for Vergil to remain behind. They came to an agreement that the time be suspended by twenty years for the father to groom the older brother for the throne seeing as the other two weren't at all interested in being bound to the place. Because Vergil made more frequent trips, he could still have the place as King and ultimate rule over the inhabitants." He snuck back to the table as he spoke, leaning against the oak and folding his arms over his chest. "In that time, both Astaroth and Dante's relationship with Sparda suffered greatly and they left earlier than what they were supposed to – it was Dante's idea and Ash wouldn't dare go against anything he wanted, so they snuck out without the other four knowing. They came back for Vergil after the allotted time. He was pissed, but that honourable asshole understood their position and was glad to be with his brother again. Only later did it come out why things had suddenly turned sour for the couple: as a dad, Sparda did what he thought was right in protecting Dante and had a serious talk with Ash behind the scenes. I'm not too sure what was said but it made him angry, and all the courage in the world and a blood bond wasn't enough for me to ask. Before they left, Ash had made a turn into the throne room, somehow evading the fifty guards that were watching over it at any given time, taking a chunk out of his own and running for his life, keeping that momentum until they were safely out of the realm."

He placed the finishing touches on his creation. "What for? A memento of sorts?"

"I thought so too, but it didn't sound like him at all." He switched legs. "Turns out it was really romantic and he had a ring made from it. An engagement ring." The demon lived for the intrinsic reaction, enjoying the facial expressions that accompanied new information hitting a pair of credulous eardrums. "Yes, you heard right. And in typical Dante fashion, he said he wouldn't wear it unless he made another, and that's what he did."

The boy finally finished his cup and placed it in the dishwasher. "I've never seen Dante wear it."

The hybrid kept it in a hidden compartment in his dresser, known by Hanson alone. "My brother always wears his around his neck. When I saw it on his desk I knew something wasn't right." Nero stood, looking straight at a body that seemed close to tears. "They visited me yesterday and I asked to employ their services to find him; he was moved to a different jurisdiction and made me promise to tell them only if they asked."

The teen was careful where he trod, not wanting to chase him away and wanting to comfort him all the same. "Have they?"

"Vergil has. Not Dante." He stared out of one of the window in the front to the empty drizzly scene. "This is the first time since then he hasn't come home. I'm certain there's another force playing with this, but they'd never forgive me if I went on my own. They invited me over to make sure I wasn't alone and being depressed, and now I'm making you depressed."

He'd have to work much harder than this; the moody eighteen year old had many notches on his belt for what he could take, and what he'd past endured went far beyond the tale of a missing brother. He was confident in the fact that it would kill him just as badly, and entrusting the twins with his safe return would make things much better. "Do you want to talk about something else?"

"Yeah, let's talk about you." The teen perched at the demon's side, keeping his eyes straight to the brown cupboards that lined the wall. "You have anyone special in your life?"

He was sure the answer was yes, but to him. He knew not how his counterpart felt about the title. "Would you read my mind if I gave you permission?"

"If that's what you want."

"It is." He twisted ninety degrees to his right, unsure of how it was to be done and coy at the thought of contact being involved. "So much simpler than saying it with words that haven't yet been invented."

Hanson had every inkling of how he felt, hating for the words to grace the air in fear of it becoming real under the shadows of uncertainty, hearing the constructed disaster take form into terms or acts that rose from its gravestone to stick inside the biggest crevice waiting to be poked with a pointy staff and forcing it's premature circumstance to be processed and acted upon; the stronger willed were able to push the inevitable back into its camping spot if only for the time being, lying dormant until a random chain of events lit the fires from underneath it and another afternoon had to be spent under the shade of dark chocolate and red wine to forget, pass out, and wake up with cotton mouth. He reached out his hand for the boy to take, giving him a smile as a small shock hit his palm while entwining, holding tightly onto him while his life essence flowed from his brain through his fingers amazed at the numbing sensation of sharing his memories with another. "I can smell him on you," he said, not letting go of his hand. "You should talk to him."

He wouldn't know where to begin. "No thanks; I like the no talking thing."

"So you're okay with it just being sex?"

Nero inspected their laced fingers, tracing the veins along the length of his milky forearm. "I think I-"

"You're lying," Hanson clasped his hand tightly and he jerked, surprised his hand wasn't in pieces after the random jolt. "What I just saw is not the answer you were about to give me."

It tickled more than anything. "It's difficult to get him to open up. I tried once and he went missing for two days. All I got was a text saying 'Don't take this the wrong way.' There was no other way to take it."

He went back to his 'subtle' inspection, presenting the opportunity for Hanson to get all hues of schmaltzy in his white strands. "He's very frustrating, I know. But maybe you need to do the talking and he just needs to sit on his plump ass and listen."

Stranger his ass; he knew this man. Well. "He does have a great ass."

"He duuuuuuuuuuuuuzzzz… Oh, the surfaces I'd bend him over-"

"I knooooooooooooooooooooooooow!"

He had no right to know, but both edges of the double sided tape were close to his heart and the quicker one made a move, the other would soon follow to give new meaning to the rest of their living days; Vergil was a tougher nut to crack than a male cashew going through a mid-life crisis, but if he remembered anything from his glory days as teenager, he knew that something as delicate as this was all in Nero's hands: any decision to be made, any lines to be crossed, any hearts to be broken would be carried through by his command, being the patient son of a bitch he always was and within the limits of reason. "Do you feel anything for him?"

Nero's heart began to race. "I don't know."

"If you're genuinely confused, that's good."

He raised his head in perfect line with his shoulder. "How is confused good?"

Hanson twisted same as he, chest flushed against one another and tucking his hands amid the softness on his head. "It isn't a no, and being confused means you authentically care for the person on the other end of the decision. No one can fault that. But do figure it out soon; you can start living your life the way you truly want to when you deci-" Every hair on his body shifted to high alert, pulling away from the warm vista attempting to single out the direction the signal was coming from; he sniffed their air walking closer to the front door, his head instantly snapping North-West. "I'm sorry; I need to go."

Nero's flesh prickled with the urgency of the situation. "Did they find him?"

The demon turned to the voice. "I think so, but there's a bunch of static I can't make out-"

Hanson mind clouded over, swaying on two feet as he began losing consciousness. "Hey!" Nero ran and caught him before he hit the floor, helping him to the chair closest to the door. "Hey hey hey, come on, stay with me."

Someone was interfering with their wavelength, drilling a monotonous, blood-curdling sound through his skull. "I'm fine; moved too quickly-"

"Don't give me that crap." Nero ran to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a brown paper bag puffed to capacity, shoving it into his hands in a manner that didn't take no for an answer. "Take this with you; don't fight me – I'll punch you in the throat and it'll hurt."

He was unbelievable; everything he'd seen him grow up to be; it made him so proud to see the short showcase, trailing into his consciousness at what kind of perfect person he was just by the kilobyte he was exposed to. He hastily drank the ice cold beverage, setting him right as rain. "Maybe I'm right and we were lovers in our past lives."

Nero snorted. "Don't make me believe that. If it's true and I'm just letting you go, I couldn't live with myself." He stepped backward as his guest stood, making a clear path for him to his exit. "Now go – I have more moping to do and you have a brother to scold."

He wouldn't dare to disobey him under his own roof. "You wanna see something cool?"

The miniscule hint of mischief didn't go unnoticed, nodding as he was wrenched out of his skin through his front door and into a dark side alley next to his home; Hanson faced him and held both his hands strongly in his own, taking three steps back as his grasp slid to keep Nero in place and giving him a seductive wink before two silver wings sprouted from his back, buckling forward at the narrow space he had to work with. Each feather was carefully crafted to be assistants in flight as well as a deadly blade to the throat, hardening its flexible edges as they left his body and a vast advantage over anyone who risked choosing his as an opponent.

The human's mouth dropped appropriately, guessing the length of the wingspan to be three times his height powerfully glowing and giving light to the whole of the cramped area. The stranger's fierce greens lifted to face him, smiling cordially as he hovered two feet above ground, his wings snuggling its impressive frame to push downward and propelling him into the air at a phenomenal speed, a gust of wind shooting tons of dust along the length of the alleyway; he watched the figure disappear into the rainclouds from earlier and looked out for the shiny glint that shone through by bouncing the missing sun's rays until he was far enough to not be seen. Nero looked to the sky in awe of the end result of the visit, rushing inconspicuously back into his home and shutting the door, throwing his weight onto it and relishing in the cool reality of what he'd just witnessed.

And all he could think of was the vanilla pudding cup that definitely didn't make it wholly through that tremendous take-off.

* * *

Vergil teleported to the base of the metal staircase behind Love Planet, shielding a very naked Lars from few prying eyes so close to his front door. They would have made it safely within the confines of his abode had Hanson undid the spell as he'd promised, giving the twins no special credit to drop in as they pleased and forcing them to do things the traditional route of ringing a door bell. It would have come in handy as per their situation, and it didn't help either that Lars was very proud of his physique and flagrant to flaunt it around out of public interest, standing to his full height as branches of both male and female species caught a glimpse of what was on offer and entrapped by the bewitching prowess of his manhood, each pair of eyes dropping to his best angle and staying there for a good time before the twin red and blue anchors were even noticed. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

Lars turned to Dante, nudging him in the ribs. He didn't like it. "They can look all they want, but that's all it'll be. You get to take this home."

It wasn't a bad deal, and he was disheartened that his actual lover had no input to the conversation, standing tight-lipped and laughing to himself at the hilarious possibilities he conjured behind the veil of his brother's face. "God, you're so romantic."

"Aren't I?" The naked demon stared at his front door, so close and yet so far, seeing his luxurious freedom and equally devastating nightmare in one room. "He's perhaps the angriest he's ever been."

"Maybe," said Vergil, only hearing the stories from the survivors of his rampage who'd managed to escape with their lives, "or he'll run to you with open arms, give you a huge hug and tuck you in after a nice long shower where he offers to wash your back and feed you strawberries." His voice was as bland as his face, rich in bitter sarcasm.

"You didn't have to dig that deep, Vergil."

"Dig? I was trying to make you feel better." The younger brother was kicking stones at his feet, walking into the path in front of Lars and blocking the view from a bigger group of women making their way to the VIP area of the Love Planet, gawking at him like a medium rare steak that he just couldn't allow. His dropped shoulders and relaxed stance were planted between the undeserving eyes and the breathing statue of David, evading the glare from the intimidating Alpha as he took off his blue coat and handed it over, catering to the broad pair of shoulders that were squaring in confusion by his generosity. Dante's eyes bulged when he took it, raising a single delicious eyebrow as the tip of his tongue was held in firmly in place, biasedly seeing the pointlessness in him not giving the coat earlier but moreover handing it over in the first place when he wasn't cold nor ashamed at being unclothed. Lars tilted his head at the gesture, smelling the air around the extended arm and narrowing his eyebrows at the familiarity of the sweetness on his tongue; he took the coat with a pinch of salt, holding it above ground to respect the endless power reverberating through the fibres, folding it neatly over his arm. "You can put it on-"

"I'm not going to." Vergil would never do that, not because he was inconsiderate to declining temperature, but Vergil would never do that; if he thought about it some more, Vergil was being more Dante than Dante was being Dante. If his memory served well once again, both of them seemed pretty off the mark of their usual selves. He guessed it was the job that threw them off, that unmistakable glint of being out of their comfort zone in not killing a full-fledged demonic baddie, when it in fact seemed much deeper than the two shaken at seeing the recreation of the first crime and the injustice they were told of in Nero's case. There was more to that sparkle, an uncomfortable lining weaving through their catching deep blue irises with something hovering along their twinsanity wavelength, and he was determined to find out what it was. "You smell funny."

He only now noticed the zip on his shirt mid pec, showing off a smidge of his collarbone on either side of the soft blue fabric, delectable as always. The incubus caught himself staring, something he wouldn't do owing to never seeing that zip in any place but pulled to the top. "We just came back from saving you; of course I smell funny-"

"No," he said, turning to Dante with a sultry smirk that implied he sniffed out their secret but didn't know what it was. "You know what I'm talking about right?"

The older brother returned it fifteen fold as per Dante's intuition, almost tempted to change his mind at the traditional flirt that Dante was. "I don't."

Lars had no idea what reply to expect, but the one he gave didn't feel right. He folded his arms under the coat, glancing across the barren street for any seen or unseen forces that were playing tricks on his mind. "Something isn't right." He took two steps back and had the twins in his sights, weighing the prospects against his proposed conclusion and coming up with a single idea; one connection to the facial expressions that didn't match, one aspect linking their abnormal and nearly untraceable changes in behaviour, one black haired younger mongrel of a mastermind to pull off something so intricate and complex that he could almost believe it. He sniffed their air one more time, the prevailing syrup he normally associated with Dante lost amid the bitter lemon sours to his right, perfect posture and balanced on two flat feet with his hands comfortably nestled in front of him; his left side confused his senses, watching the supposed Vergil rock back and forth on his heels with his hands searching for his front jean pockets, unsure of the grin that slowly bubbled to the surface kept back by an irrevocably sharp jaw. It was as if they wanted him to find out, making their features painfully obvious to the observant demon. "Hanson did something didn't he?"

Vergil stopped moving, still looking for a place to put his restless hands. "We wanted to tell you when everything went back to normal-"

"Normal? What do you mean by normal?" Lars was calm; there was reason in Hanson's madness, and he looked forward to this one.

He saw his agitated struggle and handed the coat back to the younger twin, sluggishly draping them over his shoulders and feeling at home in the deep pockets that concealed the entirety of his hands. "Your brother switched us up. Swapped our bodies-" Lars began walking over to Dante's shell, standing directly in front of the ruthless twin, pointing and ready to poke at his earlobe to have him flinch out of the way; he then reached for the zip on Dante's black shirt and tugged at that too, having his hand firmly swatted away and confirming his assumption that his beloved had confirmed. "Minds are intact, no shared memory, and one too many itchy spots to scratch."

Known to very few, Vergil hated his ears being touched and having his attire short of perfect, so it was full proof that what they were saying was the truth with no other complications mixed into the batter of Hanson's five tier cake, complete with byzantine frosting and strawberries dripped in equitable clarification that would be sliced and consumed when they were reunited in their proper skins. "Oh." It didn't seem too bad considering his brother's previous bouts of work, but he assumed it made things a bit complicated around Nero… unless they chose to not tell him either, and he wouldn't bother asking knowing that Dante would confirm it. Vergil would confirm it; he gave up already. He rotated to his lover's face, feeling Vergil's signature warmth stemming from the heavier physique. "I guess I should apologise to you."

"For what? You did nothing wrong."

"I should have guessed when you didn't want to talk to me." He played a convincing Dante, he'd give him that, right down to his mannerisms and the way they connected when he first rose from unconsciousness. He didn't take it as a sign to deceive but knowing that the face he needed to see belonged to the younger, caring for him for the short while it took for his retrieval; so archetypally him in every way that Lars couldn't help but love him for it. "I commend you on your manipulation to the inappropriate touching."

He looked to the ground as a restrained blush tiptoed into his cheeks. "There's no way you could have known-" his head shot up to look directly at the guilty party, "-save for Dante doing something for you to-" he took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose like a dragon who'd missed the spark in the back of his throat that nullified the fatal fire breathing motion that would have roasted him to a crisp. "What did you do?"

Judging by the confusion on his own face, Lars took to answering. "He held my hand."

Dante had one job. "That's sweet-" It was sweet and stupid. Stupidly sweet. Sweetly stupid. As one of the original boogeymen with all of his powers still intact, a whole hand gave away the secrets of the number forty two without so much as the other person realising it, "-considering that he can literally feel everything with the slightest touch, so you technically gave it away a while back."

True Dante looked deflated to his right at the cocky bastard who arrogantly acknowledged the appraisal of his legendary power, palms in the air at Vergil being right. Once again. "Ummmm… oops?"

Lars scratched the back of his neck, tilting his head to one side and half a grin cracking his robust, unchanging, stoic handsomeness, seeing the pure essence of Dante's influence on his brother's physique and overall appearance, mixing the frozen with the bubbly in a prevailing frosty tinge that left an unknown wanting more. Lars allowed his mouth to relish the taste of the combined presence, hitting all four corners of his tongue that made his mouth water after the repetitive onslaught of salty burning cereal. He could see himself losing his mind over the new hybrid. "Valiant effort, but I know you too well."

"You know Dante too well."

"No, both of you had a hand in this," he said, feeling a clothed shoulder shoving into his left side and inherently snaking his grip on the lean waist, tucking underneath the blue coat while keeping his decadent glowing emeralds on the smaller beast, bending to kiss the twin's temple in a much needed act overdue by his deep sense of loyalty. The hybrid turned at the sudden novelty, ensnared in the emotion he had superglued in his intestines waiting for the right moment after gruelling months of mindless lingering between fact and fiction at his distorted view of corporeality. Neither were bothered at the resemblance, glaring in an allied stare sending a butterfly effect of spasms that betrayed their inner stronghold the second they got a proper look, observing the crumbling safeguards of their brains from a distance. Lars declined to the lips that were laden with blood, shutting his eyelids at the soft newness and halting instantly, twisting his head to the other brother a few feet away. "Would you mind… if I…"

This man was stark naked in the open with the mild humidity beating down on the empty street like it was nobody's business, his hair catered to his burning impatience in taking the delightful mess in his arms to Hell's bent threshold of utter bliss suited to eradicate the willpower with which he walked into this whole charade. "Don't you want to go inside first?"

Dante knew the answer. "This can't wait."

"Then be my guest." The elder sibling turned around and sat on the third steel step, lacing his fingers as the sun peeked through the rainclouds and kissed his skin. "He's been waiting for a kiss all day."

Vergil blushed slightly; Lars would never let this go. "I was planning on watching one."

It was quick and painless, soaked in purpose and necessity as his tongue slithered into the hybrid's mouth in a commanding, obstinate pace, indulging in a single deep stroke that encompassed the trifling absence without having the warmth and love at a moment's notice; true Dante's eyes rolled back in a feint hiccup of content while his arms sat restless at his sides relaxing into the kiss, mind-boggled by his stout ability to have gone without the craving for so long; Lars' sensuality transported him to an entirely different ream of pleasure, one his human form hadn't yet grasped. Their inner demons growled at the contact, wanting so much to scold the other but lost in the acquitted ferocity of their kiss that hinged upon a level of comprehension belonging solely to the profound sense of wonder that came as the extra serving on a lifelong platter of commitment. Lars fought with his being to pull away, praying that keeping it short and sweet would adequately last them long to endure the normality finish line – his heart and mind refused to accept the decision, signalling for much more than the simplicity he offered them. His partner slowly opened his glossy blues, taking a deep breath to remain strong at the glitch in his resolution. "I needed that."

Vergil cleared his throat and toyed his uniform, tugging to smooth unseen creases as he straightened in Lars' arms. "You're welcome," he said, slugging him on his naked shoulder unsure of the strength behind the raw, bare-knuckled punch. "This doesn't change anything."

He nodded, stealing one last peck quicker than lightning. "Copy that." The dull thrum of conversant patience hit his sensitive ear canals, coercing the muscles in his neck to turn to the other love in his life with a sparking temper, unable to see through the walls of their home owing to the same stupidly fatuous spell that kept them outside. "And now to take the bull by two of seven horns."

True Dante did a double take on the premise. "Hanson has seven horns?"

"In his full form, yeah." Nonchalance would be his biggest weakness, delivering the stunted line of disturbing truth with absolutely zero fucks and an even duller voice.

Lars moved to the foot of the stairs with Vergil at the rear, a perfect demonic sandwich to greet whatever form of Hanson was behind the oak door. True Vergil stood, silently instructed to lead the party up the metal spiral stairway as the powerhouse with an equally gutsy sulk that knew most at what a missing sibling entailed, blocking out the redundant jabs of conversation he tried to make with the dismal recall of the day he found out his kin's room stripped of meaning and articles, relishing the smooth roads of earth while he was left to rot under rules and regulations that he had patiently endured for their sake. The aged incubus had his moments of fun in teasing the heaven out of Hanson's tantrums, but there was no denying a surprise attack with random splatters of blood standing over three exhausted bodies was first on his list of worries at this point in time, going as far as to guarantee him safe passage home in the clutches of the best people for the job. The man in front of the trio sympathised with him most, having lost a brother under the assumption of no return and therefore hindering the only thing he'd ever asked for – to stay by his side and protect him should things fall sour with the demon and concealing his lineage from the authorities of his right to the throne that he strongly didn't want that would have been taken by either of the remaining soldiers still standing at his father's side. He recalled the day of hearing the news of his disappearance in the middle of his training with Lucifer serving as an initial rumour, driving Vergil upon confirmation to be on par with the immortals in strength and brutality as motivation to seek out his younger brother in the unknown dominion equipped with less than a compass and no way to go about his task and accomplish his outcome. He gave up on the search by force of daddy dearest and continued his grooming for the unsightly and uncomfortable golden chair, convinced it was riddled in tiny needles that came with the job description delivering poison that altered the seated identity at the snap of a finger, put off by the consequences of the rule without the possibility of it never coming to fruition as per Dante's escape. A few months down the line, their secret knock peaked its head against his kitchen window and there they stood, draped in heavy black with numerous side streets as efficient as the night itself, not needing a single word to transpire for Vergil to drop his whisk, turn off the preheated stove and open his back door, moving with the couple to his huge bedroom, pack his things and escape the Hellish domain in under thirty minutes flat to make a life outside the fire and indecision six hundred feet below ground. When the unspeakable backstory came to light the rankling passion to let his rated streak of vulagaric proportions subsided, leaving him more in awe that they braved the abuse for so long, cooking dinner at three in the morning as unparalleled thanks for their actions against the powerful man to walk the planets of the solar system. The pang of their synchronised footsteps brought him back to reality and compelled him to stop, the two creatures behind him doing as they were unscriptedly told, standing on the lower cascading steps and seeing him turn on the small plate to confront the ancient being in a humble stare down to have his say on the matter. "This is hitting him pretty hard, I hope you understand that; I can't speak for him, but I know you've never been without the poor guy to know what this feels like." _Wait, Vergil, what are you doing? This man can break you into tiny pieces._ "I'm glad you're doing better and I don't mean to take that away, but put yourself in his shoes just this once." _Provoking him isn't a good idea, genius._ "He asked us to find you: US! HE DOESN'T LIKE US! He's a tough cookie, but every cookie has a crumble." _Yes, idiot, show him your weak spot._ "Consider he's just happy that you're home. He was worried sick and we're outside your front door. Have a bit of faith in that embittering cotton swab of fuzz, would you?" _And now's the time to shut up and back away slowly._ That tiny manly voice curled into a tiny ball, confused at the confident empathetic outburst that was obviously all Dante's fault.

Lars didn't move from his place after true Vergil progressed to the front door. "I do understand, Vergil."

"You make it sound like you don't." It came from a good place, if good constituted frozen and deadly. "But that's you, I guess."

Lars wheeled him by the shoulders the rest of the way up, steering him forward as the younger reached the top of the stairs; the demon squeezed them, moving all the way to his forearm in comprehension of the situation, secretly avoiding speaking of the ordeal in its entirety and how much he was painfully aware of Hanson's pending hurt over the elapsed time. The grip at the bend in his elbow made Dante stop in front of the oak, receiving a kiss in the crook of his neck as thanks for the slap to his ego, opening his eyes to see and not glance over the emotion that would be wracking Hanson's frame attempting to hide his relief upon seeing his pale face after what seemed like forever. The impact of the words truly struck a chord inside him, making him aware to introduce his overbearing presence little by little for Hanson to grieve his return suitably and not be a jolt to his senses where he'd operate on autopilot, keeping the lid tightly fixed on his bottled mawkishness. "Come on, I wanna go home."

True Vergil pulled a delectably sour face that Lars pretended to miss. "Don't tell me what to do."

The three beasts all smiled in unison at the emblematic response, earning him another purposeful burning peck underneath his earlobe, cementing the notion that Lars couldn't keep his hands off Dante regardless of the true form within it's gorgeous shell; Vergil was oh-so-tempted to repay the favour as a keepsake on the uncomfortably optimistic journey that was his twin brother but decided otherwise, reminiscing on the last time he'd followed through with a thought of the same calibre – it didn't end badly, and that was the problem in itself. A tiny twist to the handle and they were given entry, unhurriedly slipping into the abode and swiftly locating the presence they assumed would be waiting for their arrival.

Hanson sat with his back toward them, attacking a foil pack of crunchy goodness when they'd built the courage to enter the destination of their cargo; he folded the pack and replaced it back in its packaging, swivelling in his chair to see them. Still recovering from overexertion, he looked between the three baffled at their expressions of unanimity, not wanting to wage the bubbling war in front of his brother.

After storming inside of his apartment and finding himself a few minutes short of the arriving party of three – reacting on instinct at sensing his brother's presence somewhere in the city – he bolted for his front door and barely made it owing to his low blood sugar; sniffing out the empty room, he dragged his feet over to the island and recovered from the draining flight, plonking himself on a bar stool and rummaging the brown paper bag of goodies packed by his knight in skinny jeans. Hanson was amazed that nothing was out of place, impatiently reaching for the biggest chunk of food that was a full chicken-mayo-crouton-spring onion-lettuce-tomato on a garlic sub cut into quarters, ripping the plastic with dignity and pecking at it rebelliously, stuffing his cheeks full of the wholesome snack that his mouth couldn't contain the size of his hungry bites.

He turned at the noise, circling clockwise and looking over his right shoulder, setting the last quarter of his sandwich on the counter as true Dante stepped over the threshold and closed the door, dusting the flakes off his hands and jumping off his bar stool to join his brother who wasn't pleased with what he saw. "Why do you look like that?"

Hanson didn't miss a beat, carrying his stride without a hitch watching his feet take turns in bringing him closer to his brother. "I didn't eat until now." He rolled his sleeves to his elbow as his steps got smaller, wringing his hands to calm the shaking. "I haven't gone shopping so there's nothing in the fridge-"

"And you haven't cooked?"

He couldn't finish his thought in saying 'in case you came home', but hey, being the one in the wrong was his specialty. His entire mood altered from crippling anxiety to unnecessary aggravation pushed into a corner he didn't think was important, not wanting to enjoy sustenance while his brother suffered under unknown circumstances. "There's been no one to feed."

Hanson stood directly in front of him. "So, you don't count-"

"Not right now I don't."

He didn't know what to do. "Hanson-"

"You need a shower." It was the best thing he could come up with.

"Don't change the subject-"

"I'm ending the conversation-"

"That I'm still busy with-"

"You'll shut down anything I say-"

"From the looks of it, you haven't been taking care of yourself-"

"I'm perfectly fine-"

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" The raise in his voice shocked the twins but Hanson paid it no heed, staying as stiff as a board while Lars tried to keep himself composed. "Why do you keep doing this?"

Hanson looked up to him in distress, steeling his greens at the act of intimidation from the rescued party of one. "I'm not doing anything, Lars, but do forgive me that I valued your return over sustenance I don't need in the first place." The air between them changed drastically, from a hearty welcome home that was on everyone's agenda to a contest of dominance over insignificant detail to impassively overshadow the toll every fibre had undergone under the pressure of his absence. He clenched his fits at his side at the untold insinuation, levelling his gaze miles beyond the room he was in to his happy place, relaxing the grasp and focusing on the unpleasantries placed before him. "You need to clean yourself off. A nice scrub will do you the world of good."

He had a point; he also wanted Lars out of the room for a few short minutes while he spoke to the twins on his newest discovery. The older incubus wasn't one to argue as he so desperately wanted to, planting half a complacent kiss to his brother's temple on route to the bathroom, immediately diffusing the tension as they heard the lock turn and the water rain its clean parade on the broad-chested beast, an unwinding Hanson squeezing the bridge of his nose at the awkward display. "Don't mind him."

What a reunion. "What on earth was that? He was fine outside."

"He would be; he gets pissed off at me first so I can't do it to him."

Vergil tenderly grabbed his shoulder. "But you're not pissed-"

"I am. You have no idea. But I know to address my feelings long after the colour returns to his face. He thinks if he gets me angry it forces it out of me so it doesn't come later, because later is so much worse; I can attack him at full health, and he hates that more because he has no leg to stand on." The twin at his side stared to an empty wall, taking steps back to his previous position. "It's isolated to him, don't worry. I'm thankful to you two, and I won't take anything out on you. But-" His eyes were glassier, richer, lethal, swirling in a whirlpool of resolve and esteem in addressing the other twin, sending a similar response of openness to the query coming his way, "-I only have one thing to ask; after that you are free to do as you wish."

True Vergil saw it coming, standing to his full height one inch shorter than him. "Are you going to ask about Nero's memories?"

Hanson smiled, expecting nothing less from the older sibling. "Yes I am."

Dante nodded curtly, gathering his eggs into one mental basket. "The magic that I use is permanent. It isn't like yours where specific criteria are matched and things revert to normal but is as resolute as anything factual you have come to know. Erasing every single memory from birth until the day he arrived at our doorstep had a risk implanted with it; because I had never ventured that far into the past, there was a chance the magic would have taken his other learned abilities with it – reading, writing, speaking, walking, talking, eating – all of that could have been lost and I couldn't take that chance. Not to a child; give me an adult any day and I'd turn them into a vegetable without a second thought. We decided on the basics and got rid of those."

He couldn't fault the justification and it sounded so stereotypically logical of Vergil to do. "Thank you for the explanation, but that wasn't my question. What I want to know is why you didn't think to tell us. Not that we would have benefitted in any way or tried to force him into remembering us, but being kept in the loop would have been nice." The incubus touched his shoulder where the soft hand lay, lining up his next move. "I think my brother and I have earned that right."

The twin bowed deeply. "You have. I apologise-"

"Oh no, not you, Vergil." He turned to Vergil and gripped the hand just as was about to tug it away, trapping him much to his brother's delight. "I'm talking to your brother."

No uncomfortable grip; no pain-inducing claws piercing his skin; just an ancient, deleterious, immortal being who can crush him like a bug searching for answers he was owed. "I have no reason for not telling you. I won't defend it because there's no excuse." Dante wondered how he crippled a nothing-fearing man to a rambling mess, a hybrid deity for lack of a better word reduced to a lump of deep syllables and consonants under decisive burden by the length of his fingers. "But I need to ask you what's worse: knowing and doing nothing about it or not knowing-"

"And still do nothing about it? One of those options contains insight, Dante. Something that would have been nice to know." Hanson enjoyed their conversations more when the twin thought his life was in danger, sparing him the torturous bit of imagining his life without his left hand. "How many times have you been to Love Planet since you gained custody and you couldn't spare four seconds to tell me that?"

The clasp vanished, but his hand never moved. "I've told you about other important things!"

"And I'm grateful. Lars is grateful. Seeing his face light up with the stories you tell me about his achievements mean the world to both of us." He swatted the air glad to have gotten his point across with the result of Dante never overlooking anything ever again, keeping up the disheartened face miles away from the one of pure enjoyment only Vergil could see. "I know I'm making a big deal out of something small, but when things like these skim the surface, it's difficult to know what you're allowed to say, and I'm not the best blank canvas around-"

"What do you mean skim the surface?" Dante's face glanced back in worry.

Hanson looked between them, trying to locate the knowledge in the atmosphere. "He told me about the nightmares."

It seems they had no idea. Shit. "What nightmares?"

He needed to word this carefully. "He's having recurring nightmares of the fragments you left behind from the day of his rescue. He hasn't spoken to you about them?"

"No," said true Vergil, shaking his head as he beheld the taller creature. "No he hasn't."

True Dante butted in, observing the interaction and alterations at face value. "Don't pull that face."

Hanson was confused. "What face?"

"That face when you're hot and bothered and want to punch something."

His eyebrows furrowed even more, giving off a stronger vibe to the latter mentioned action. "I don't have a face like that-"

"If it'll make you feel better, you can punch my brother in the face."

Not if Vergil had anything to say about it. "I'd like to think not." He gripped at the incubus' shoulder by mistake, garnering a stranger expression of mild pain and hilarity, the left side of his face crumpling in a half smile to support half the laugh to fizz to the surface. "What is with you and violence all of a sudden?"

Did he forget who he was talking to? "It's my body; I'm willing to bear the burden of a few scratches-"

"And I'd prefer to not have your face feel like its divorcing your face!"

The laugh finally came, concealed behind an open fist while moving backward to the lone staircase. "I won't be punching anyone, don't worry." He spun, racing up the spiral flight to his door and opened it quickly, the twins earning some time as he turned the myriad of dials to his safe.

Vergil's voice sounded in his head. _Have you ever been punched by him? I have; it's not pretty._

Dante shrugged. _It can't be that bad._

 _Hanson can make you bleed, Vergil. Profusely. The damage isn't covered by medical insurance._

 _Dante, we have demon blood running through our veins-_

 _HE'S AN ORIGINAL. DEMON BLOOD DOESN'T MEAN SHIT._

The elder squinted and plugged his left ear. _Don't shout; I'm right here._

 _Now is not the time for asshole Vergil to make his debut._

 _Do you know what debut means?_

 _You haven't been a dick in a long time – I thought it was appropriate._

 _I'm so offended by that. I try to be a dick at least once a day._

 _Maybe that's just your mood so I don't notice. I could be used to it._ This wasn't the time for a creepy smile from Vergil either, but true Dante would always find a way. _Or I could make a really uncomfortable joke about all of your dick going to Nero?_

 _How is that uncomfortable when it's true?_ He was absolutely irresistible when he got cocky, even to his own brother. _He wouldn't approve of me saying that. Don't tell him I said that._

The bantering brothers snapped their heads at the soft footsteps coming down the stairs hauling a hefty suitcase like it was a jam-packed with feathers, looking like it was meant to be handcuffed to his muscled forearm covered in red tape with a time bomb ticking on the front, industrial padlocks swinging off the top and him draped in a SWAT uniform, ready to offload it to the closest civilian in the vicinity. He handed it to Dante who would put up less of a challenge than the younger sibling. "Here you go. Therapy's expensive."

True Vergil was feeling especially Dante today, holding the case at arm's length to give it back. "We can't accept this."

"Yes you can; it was a job based on a hunch but a job nonetheless." Hanson crossed his arms defensively with no intention of taking the money back. "When we meet again, you have my word I won't say anything to him. Thank you for being honest with me; I thought there was a real reason as to why you didn't say anything, but I'm relieved." The demon smoothly approached the case, feigning a mend on one of the clips. "And you…" He tried keeping his eyes low before giving into temptation, sharing in the heated glare that was Vergil's default setting. "You take care of him, okay?" He looked back down at his hands, setting the clip back in place. "You give him everything he needs; be the only person he knows he can trust; be his saviour; be the reason he looks forward to tomorrow. Be the chapter he wants to read out loud, and be the happy ending he doesn't know he deserves, you got me?"

With the unoccupied hand, he reached for the small of Hanson's back, assuaging the stiff aura between them owing to the inevitable rising tension from both sides. "Has he said anything to you?"

"No particulars." The tactic made things worse, dipping into one another's ear as the situation called for. "Talk to him. That's all he wants."

He tried to keep the happiness from his voice. "I'll try."

"No, you will. I'm counting on you, because I'll know if you don't and there'll be hell to pay." For old time's sake he gave the twin a peck on the lips, a final lasting burn to an otherwise dead path he could no longer venture; the twin moved in for another, halted by the green-eyed soft caress at his sharp jaw, making due with another to his cheek that portrayed the same sad message. "Break his heart, I break your neck." It wasn't a question and he didn't wait for an answer before he moved back to his perch, taking his seat as the bigger form of him emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a long white furry robe, superfluously covering the bare necessities and more than all of them had hoped. His posture and overall stature was back to normal, shrinking the present inner demons to cautionary stances of reverence at the ageless, old-fashioned command stemming from the adorable ball of faultless nuance.

His brother continued his munching crusade taking no notice of his steamy entrance, moving barefooted to the brothers who patiently waited to wish him well. Lars must have scrubbed his brain clean in the humid steam, forgetting the swap in massaging Dante's astute shoulders and standing too close for Vergil's comfort. True Vergil said nothing, thinking he had earned the right to relax his muscles under the strong fingers. "You look much better, Lars."

He nodded into his neck. "I need to drop by tomorrow, if that's okay with you." The taller man squashed the strain out of his muscles, pressing some life into his upper arms. "To make things right with your brother."

It seems he didn't, staying close to the elder for peace of mind on how to best approach the situation; Vergil chose not to dissect him piece by piece upon hearing the nervous breath escape him, the gentle complementary touches ever so careful around the fragile state of Dante's body, regardless of the amount of control he harboured over the multifaceted, tarnishing shell. "Come early; he's on breakfast duty and won't leave the kitchen until he's done."

He kept himself hidden, aware of the scrutiny he'd be under if his face popped anywhere close to his shoulder. "Maybe I'll do that."

Dante's body vibrated at his turn, smelling the unease and anxiety emanating from the huge frame; unlike many others, it was futile to not wear his heart on his sleeve as they could tell when something was wrong, and hiding it caused a bigger ruckus than entertaining a dispirited form to breath in the calm air that did squat to the pedestrian thump he could hear in his ears. "Do what you want, I can feel you." His core superpower was reading people after all, spinning and confirming the lost expression and wandering, fretful eyes. Lars' inability to maintain eye contact was a given, avoiding the depth and curiosity on the other end and leaving with no scratches to his ego or what was left thereof. "You know I won't leave if you're thinking things like that."

It was just loud enough for Dante to hear. "Things like what?" The younger couldn't bear to look at either of them when they had their mini private sessions because they were apparently on an entirely different wavelength of understanding, easier to accept than the elongated explanation Vergil provided when he thought he was doing the world a favour. The blue hybrid shifted closer to their revelry keeping his eyes on the phoenix design on Hanson's back. "Remind me to never let you shower alone. The acoustics make your destructive thoughts clearer."

"They're not destructive thoughts. I'm letting everything get to me, that's all." He couldn't look anywhere but at the silent player with his back toward them. It killed the younger twin to see him like this. "The separation, this incident… I don't want to be strong anymore."

"You shouldn't want that."

"I don't, but I need it." Lars smiled gently up at them both, trying to convince them and himself that all was going to be okay for them to head back home and leave him to process the steamed desolation that had seeped through a body-full of pores; what he didn't need was Dante's look of remiss censure on Vergil's face, drowned in persistent irk that meant he wasn't going anywhere until he faked enough to be perceived as relatively okay, and judging by his body language wrapped in the cloth he wasn't planning on enjoying the next few hours. The eerie stillness to every aspect of him could silence a room of the world's elite, a small itch at the palm of his hand as menacing as an explosion across the expanse of the universe. "Give me this," he said plainly, apologetically, the deep raw tinges of exhaustion beginning to show.

What else was there to say? "Let's go, Dante-"

"I love how I have no say in any of this."

The elder twin moved to the door grabbing the hand stationed at his hip. "This is something he wants to do-"

"Leaving him alone feels wrong-"

"He isn't alone!" True Vergil gestured to the quiet man sitting at the island, elbows on the surface and tucked into his side. _If this is you running from the situation at home-_

Lars' head snapped between them. "What situation?"

He was officially in no mood to having him snoop on the mediocre turned appalling day he was already having. The blue hybrid dropped the planet hanging around his neck, positioning it next to the last fuck he gave to the current state of their affairs with a routine strut to the front door, unaffected by the background gnashing of teeth at play in their heads. "Call me if you need anything." Without a backward glance, he left the home and closed the door softly behind him, jumping from the top to the ground that actuated a reading on the Richter scale on the opposite side of the world.

He stood dumbfounded staring at the closed door, sealing in the distaste of his actions behind his lips. "I don't know why that happened."

"I do." The incubus couldn't confront the troubled frozen blues, keeping his eyes glued to the black boots on Dante's feet. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vergil."

Vergil did the logical thing and followed the rungs to the bottom, not caring to catch up to the blue coat who huffed and puffed down the street. The younger never broke his stride as he flipped one hundred and eighty degrees, walking backward step for step with his brother. "For the record, you don't need to shove every single mistake in my face. I don't know how I will make things right with Nero, but have faith in me while that blue moon shines, alright?" Two fingers pointed into the mid-afternoon sky, smirking in agitation as the words left his mouth. "I don't need you being perfect all the damn time, and I certainly don't need Lars to know about any mishaps under my care. I told you I'd handle it, and if that isn't sufficient for your brilliant mind to comprehend then don't bother saying anything."

Dante threw his body around in a blasé manner, watching the blur of red grab him by the collar and crush his windpipe. It was an unfair insinuation that the older brother wouldn't let slide, seeing the same level of rage reflected in both cerulean pairs. "You take that back-"

"What are you going to do?" He coughed, his air intake significantly reduced than a few seconds prior.

The grip grew tighter. "When are you going to realise that your image in front of him doesn't count?"

"WHEN I'VE WORKED HARD ENOUGH FOR HIM TO OVERLOOK IT!" The accumulation of the day was starting to get to him, detaching his usual solid mind from the rest of his body and actions, unintentionally dooming his conscience as a whole by going with the flow of scorching hatred passing through his bloodstream; he'd been seeing red the entire day – why not carry it through until his morality caught up with him? He adored the inelegance of being everything he wasn't, even if those on the other knew it wasn't Vergil being the butt of unrealism, hiding proper Dante under a thick furry carpet that filtered the amiable from the despicable, handing the reigns over to the suppressed insignificant part of him to do as it wished, inflicting the worst version of himself to dominated the hankering, loving, sensitive side that everyone had grown to love. "You don't love Nero enough to know what any of this feels like-"

The mention of his name was all the older twin needed, launching a punch that shocked the wrong side of his mind into gear over what Dante had spewed as he fell on his side in black tar, holding the bones in the left side of his face in place for his rapid healing factor to kick in, mending the skull but not the split and bruising skin. He managed to climb on all fours and watched the blood fall onto the ground, sizzling into wisps of oblivious air and flowing with the gentle breeze that burned his nose and mouth. "Don't speak on matters you know nothing of."

He dabbed his palm against his mouth, catching more droplets of ichor blood, speaking to the road for his own safety. "Are you really that afraid of-"

"Dante, I'm warning you."

The younger froze in position, hearing Yamato unsheathed and the unhostile pointy end poking him in the back of his neck; Dante angled his head upward at the perfectly constructed identical mask in frightening calm as his clutch softened, allowing his brother to sit on his knees with a stewing pained expression, breathing heavily as his eyes began to water. "Whatever you do, don't lie to yourself. Don't lie to Nero."

That smack must have been what he needed, reaching his hand for Vergil to drop his sword and grasp, wrenching him to his feet while his eyes rolled in their sockets from aftershock of the earth-shattering knock to his past and future. "I'd do personal disservice before I let anything happen to him." They shared a hundred volt smile, standing on the same page of the piloting notebook they've kept for four years, engraving their words in stanch ink under their feet; the red-clad figure moved back on the route home, extending his hand for the weapon at Dante's feet to vibrate against the asphalt, clicking its signature hum of death as it spun into his upturned palm and casing the beast, letting it effervesce into nothingness before turning to locate his brother who jogged to catch up.

He did all the base checks to ensure his face as a whole worked in unison; pulling a multitude of facial expressions to loosen the healing tissue, pushing his tongue into opposite corners of his mouth, licking over the top and bottom jaw for cracks and missing teeth and grinning harshly, clashing his pearly whites in the open. "This look suits you."

The older sibling gripped the bruising skin on his nose, earning a pitched wince so high only dogs could tell in how much pain he was. "Don't push me to do that again."

Dante wiggled out of the pinch and raised his hands in surrender as they walked – breathing through his nose and ticking another injury off the list – not wanting to ever pay the price for upsetting touchy topics around his brother a second time.

In the moment, he hadn't clicked at its connotation, even as his own face stared from beneath the silky silver fringe.

* * *

Lars heard his front door click into place, turning the flimsy part of the lock for temporary safety before moving to Hanson's side, sitting on the seat directly to his right surveying him hard at work at folding the lunch plastic around the bottom of a sandwich and reach for the moulded plastic Lars recognised as a vanilla pudding cup, examining it from each possible angle waiting for the aesthetic to please him; apart from the rounded edges that allowed every morsel to be spooned and the manufacturer of the mushy dessert, nothing outlandish stood out to irritate him, pulling off the colourful foil top to be greeted by a colourless crème that broke with the spoon between his fingers, ladling a healthy portion into his mouth. Hanson swirled it around with his tongue trying to decipher the flavour in taking another spoonful for his ultimate conclusion. "This is disgusting."

He ate another two spoons, collecting the bits along the side of the cup. "You can stop eating it."

Hanson stopped mid fifth gulp, giving him a look of sincere puzzlement. "Would you stop eating something because tastes terrible?"

"That's the general rule, yes."

He continued his bite. "That's a stupid rule."

'Culinary geniuses didn't need to make sense,' he'd always say, dipping both a banana and a gherkin into a jar of peanut butter like a demented pregnant woman to see which would taste better. The banana won by a hair's width. "I have to go into the office in a bit. Fill out some paperwork for the transfer."

Lars didn't look too happy about it, and the urge to raid that stalwart dense skull was worse than pretending he hated vanilla. "Why do you look like you're about to say something I'm not ready for?"

Neither of them were, but when he had something on his chest, the acid reflux was beyond comparison. "I won't pull something like that again. I promise."

Hanson finished the entire thing, crumpling the material into a small ball as if it were paper, toying with it in his fist to elude the green stare. "I don't want to have this conversation-"

"This isn't a conversation. I ignored everything you said and I know you're disappointed, but nothing can come close to telling you how sorry I am-"

"It's fine, Lars-"

"No it isn't-"

"YES IT IS!" Bad choice in choosing the red kettle, but it was the only appliance within range. "All I can do is forgive and forget, and it's going to work this time as it has every time you find yourself in these situations."

Lars put his hand on Hanson's shoulder, the inescapable and furtively brazen truth suited his mental state. "I'm trying to apologise-"

"And I'm trying to stop you because it won't make things better." The incubus jumped off his seat and placed the leftover sandwich in the fridge, busying himself in the freezer for scraps to make some dinner. "Get going; they're probably waiting to welcome you at the office."

His voice was tiny, being done the vilest injustice in wishing for a better reception home that he couldn't put on offer; Lars did as he was told, climbing slowly off the stool and walking slowly to his room like time was under his command, stopping at the middle rung that was the last place Hanson was still in view. His continuous pillar of support, the sole constant in a world of change, the man he looked up to most and dreamed of equalling stood hunched over a freezer to cook them their first proper meal in three days, smaller and paler than he'd remembered, depleted of any strength he had left over for a welcoming hug he didn't receive. He hurried the rest of the way up and shut his bedroom door loud enough for Hanson to hear, using his super vision to see through a floor and two walls to a crippling sight: Hanson practically crashed the top to activate the airlock on the appliance, propping against the cold metal and curling into a ball, holding his knees and burying his face in the small hollow and listened to his echoed cries for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and wiping the wetness from his cheeks as he relaxed on the cool like the past minute didn't exist. Lars couldn't tell which was worse: the fact that Hanson had waited for him to be outside sensory range or that he had lined up all the ingredients for his favourite meal on the island, kept aside for his safe return. The man downstairs began his prep, grabbing a sharp knife and started off dicing a small onion whilst wiping weighty, mulish tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

* * *

The house was dead when they arrived, and as expected a rough note sat on the dining table explaining the silence, torn from the notepad that was magnetised to the fridge. True Dante picked up the piece of paper, grinning instinctively at how his humour was maturing. It read:

 _Dante,  
Buying some crêpes for dessert. Been having a craving lately. Will be back soon; call me if you need anything from the store (not any funny sex stuff; I can't believe you made me do that the last time). I should be home around four thirty.  
We have much to talk about when I get home. I had no idea what was going on, and I feel horrible for what you heard this afternoon. I hope Vergil wasn't too much of a handful.  
PS – if the ice cream truck comes by, there's money attached for my usual order. Thanks _

He found the twenty dollars folded neatly underneath the note – three wafer ice cream sandwiches, four chocolate smudges, two banana splits, and two jolly jammers and use the change as tax for another banana split if his memory served him right. If he was surrounded by sweets, he was in the safest place and in a better mood than Dante would have estimated, making half of his job easier and the other more difficult half left to his own devices of cunning and charm, spiced with a seasonal Vergil tang – emphasis on the seasonal – that hit all the right spots for the victim on the receiving end. Setting the note down, he removed the top portion of his uniform after glancing at the clock and got straight to work on supper, loosening the straps on the brown boots and getting as comfortable as he could to maintain his dispassion from the baggage strapped to both his demonic arms, tugging him in opposing directions and setting him off his equilibrium for his bonkers side to take over; he wasn't ready for his second slugger in less than two hours, preferring to ostrich it out with his head in the sand and follow routine as the safer path, given he was seesawing on his brother's bad side needing more than medium rare steak, blue cheese sauce and onion rings to win him over.

Vergil flipped the paper, tilting his head to the side as the rest of his body tailed in the same manner, leaning onto one of the chairs at the corner of the table. "Other side, Vergil."

He reread the message from a distance and gave another chuckle, pulling an apron over his naked torso and tying it behind his back. "He writes notes for me on the underside." The older twin swapped hands:

 _Vergil,  
I know what happened today; forgive me for this afternoon.  
I hope you made it home in one piece. If you're reading this at least your mind is still intact.  
I will apologise to you and Dante properly when I get back, but I'm still angry with you. I don't want to be, but please understand.  
I hadn't told you before, but you look really good today (present tense because you probably still do.)  
One more thing: I meant what I said. Let's talk about this. I'll keep on holding if you will._

His handwriting took on a gothic script when he wrote in hurry and rereading the words thrice over tightened the muscles in his stomach, tartness foaming to the surface and compelling a smile to stop its easy traversal. "These things make my day."

"What?" Again, it was right there, but who bothered flipping things over in the twenty first century, especially notes that conveyed the full message on ONE SIDE. Brilliant. "Since when?"

Dante saw his face change drastically to some type of happiness he didn't think he'd yet come into contact with – that feeling of a scalp-massaging whisk tangling between the strands, getting every pop on a piece of bubble wrap, a hearty sneeze, even going as far as to peeling a price sticker in one go; it surprised him more that his brother was capable of something like that. "Always – in his words, 'a little risk goes a long way'."

Dante pulled three chunks of steak from the freezer. "He thinks that's a risky thing to do?"

'Risk' was one of the words he used, next to 'audacious', 'necessity', 'sass', and 'greed'; Vergil wasn't complaining. "Considering his track record consists of straight A's, distinctions, class valedictorian and being on a scholarship that's paying him to study, a hint you're up to finding is out of his comfort zone." He set the note wrong side up, taking the seat on the corner that faced the kitchen, observing his own body floating around the counters as it coerced the younger to do so. "One day, he saw me look at the back of one of his notes, and since then he's been writing a separate memo for me; reminders, motivations, those sorts of things, and I make a point in my day to make sure he knows I read it."

This was too cute. "How?"

He pulled Dante's cell phone out of his pocket and placed in the centre of the table, moving his right leg over his left, lacing his fingers in thought. "Comments, appropriate and inappropriate; appraisals; bigger plates of food; an extra strawberry at the top of his sundae; playing songs from my Bluetooth speaker that annoy him; messing up his room on purpose because he's having a bad day and cleaning it soothes him; getting to his PlayStation first and playing something completely stupid when I know he's dying to finish a mission on a different game; hiding his chocolate so he's forced to talk to us when he's in a mood; we've turned it into a game to see whether or not you notice." Both could take an educated guess in saying he didn't. "He's begun to get things out of me that way, and I kinda like it."

The black pepper grinder couldn't handle the revelation either, getting caught in the sharp blades to hear the rest of his confession. "Holy crap, you like something?"

"I said 'kinda'. That means sort of."

All the appliances fell silent, along with the deep pot of oil that had reached its boiling point a second ago. "So, you 'sort of' dislike it." Dante mocked him with his signature hypothetical bunny ears highlighting its ridiculousness as justification against the truth he chose to not indulge. "Oh Vergil, you know nothing about this 'kinda' thing, do you?" He did it again to drive the nail deeper.

Vergil took off his shoes, unclipped the three clasps holding the coat together and zipped his shirt all the way down, letting his Dante show by relaxing into the seat and broadening the scope of his chest as his arms draped over the back of the chair, tongue in cheek in emphasis of his sharp jaw. "Are you making fun of me?"

The kitchen resumed its volatile state with a shrug from the cook, eyes transfixed on slicing the deal-breaker for the entire meal. "I'm multi-talented: I can talk and piss you off at the same time."

Was there another destiny to await little brothers? "I don't engage in mental combat with the unarmed."

True Dante bit his tongue at the slow evocative smile shifting his face to joyous sunshine, tight-lipped at the cerulean orbs keeping a close eye on maintaining his giddiness to a minimum and failing wonderfully, biting the nail on his index finger with a smooth canine and crinkling his nose in a breathy chuckle that shook his apron, turning at the ding coming from the preheated oven; he stuffed the steaks into the congealed heat and set the timer, beginning his knifework on the unpeeled potatoes for the extra chunky wedges to tip the odds in his favour. "Vergil, in all seriousness…" He stopped mid motion in his triangle cut to swing focus to his left, meeting the unflinching gaze of his own brain pumping superfluous thoughts through the ether. "He's already knee deep."

The cook grabbed at a stray string of cotton on his attire, missing the unintentional whisper of a smile on his brother's face. "You think I don't know that?"

"I know you know that; I want you to know what you're going to do with that information."

He rubbed his hands on his thighs, the smell of the leather chaps accentuated by his indecisiveness. "I know what I'm not going to do-"

Dante spoke soft enough to not be heard from the other side of the door, falling into quiet as Nero stepped into the house carrying a sweet-smelling plastic bag, combing his hair forward and freezing at the loud sniff behind him, relaxing the tension of the sudden noise at the realisation that he didn't live alone; the older twin moved his chair in view of them both with a very satisfied look. "Productivity looks good on you."

Nero closed the door behind him and put the boxes on the table, briefly glancing to the savoury smells and muscles protruding in Vergil's shoulder while he chopped the vegetables; true Dante abided the icy laser on his collarbone, bending to retrieve a bowl he didn't need with the intent to see his head fly to a different focus in the room that was a dead giveaway to the incomparable stare. "You're back."

It wasn't a question. The best part was that he sounded relieved. "Disappointed?"

He leaned his hand onto the table in front of the twin, hiding a raised eyebrow at the momentary delay in judgement that came within view of his bare chest. "Both of you in one piece?"

"Last time I checked."

The teen nodded, thirst and mind sound in consequence. "I wouldn't have gotten my money back if you weren't."

Dante uncrossed his legs and spread them to get comfortable, pulling his coat closer to his body on purpose, straightening in his seat and speaking in a deeply gruff voice, completing his fifty percent in the circle of élan. "Lucky you."

His mind wandered to the interior of the living area, looking at everything but the kitchen that took up the majority of the space; he enjoyed the scents facing his bedroom door deathly afraid of both corners of his eyes, settling for the piece of wood directly in front of him as he shook his head in disbelief. Nero couldn't find it in himself to break the streak of his sanity in staying mad at the cooking sibling, daring his thick skull to melt the layers little by little with every inch of the pale nude flesh word for word out of a homehusband cookbook. The tips of his fingers burned for some reason, angling his line of vision to the note laying the wrong way up, turning it over to Dante's side without physiologically giving anything away to the demon that sniffed movements to their minute detail. He looked to the door to confirm Dante's nonchalance in his blind spot, twisting his own arm to the other direction and getting a proper look at the small blotches of his own foolishness on the demon's cheek. The teen kept to his idea of calm, eyes narrowing as their gazes met. "What happened to your face?"

It failed. "I fell," he said, not breaking the momentum of dunking the last of the raw onions into the flour and batter and dropping them one by one onto the wire rack inside the bubbling pot. Vergil rolled the excess clumps into a mushy ball, tossing it into the bin as the icy glare hit his spine, sending shivers to the tips of his toes. "Into his tactically positioned fist."

Nero spoke sufficient Vergil to decipher the moral, watching him come into view in visible pain from the fall; he didn't know Dante had it in him to cause bodily harm to his own blood, thinking to the furthest of margins of possibility for the older twin to tick him off – which required much more than an average demon or human – and for him to reciprocate that kind of punishment as the equivalent to his idiocy was something he would have paid good money to see. He revelled at the thought of a full-powered punch surpassing their combined strength leaving a good impression, but something was amiss – it threw him off the high five he wanted under the table, defensive in his mien while he avoided both their stronger auras. "Why aren't you healing?"

He faced the corner of the kitchen and gave him side-eye, attempting to hide the fret outlined in his features from at least one twin. "Pain looks good on me."

His reply never answered his question, but he was in no mood to fish if the bites weren't going to help him understand the tension, heaving a deep breath at the only clue he'd be getting for the time being. There was nothing for him to worry about but he did it out of instinct; the bruises and consequent pain was a grain of sand in the nine million kilometre Sahara Desert that was the rest of him, unaffected by the deep violet stains serving as the sole proof of the attack that brought a slight smile to his face, turning on his heel and shared the crack in his steely mindset with a healthy, toothy, fully-loaded grin from the younger twin. The day wasn't on his side. "I need to punch some stuff; you don't have any plans for the rest of the night?"

"I don't." True Vergil changed to degree of solemnity, anticipating the worst challenge yet. "Cancelled them when I read the note."

Was it just him or was Dante being extra sweet for no reason? The slow exhales weren't working either, finding it particularly difficult to keep his composure with the sparkle that came alongside any conversation they had. He curtly pointed his chin to the boxes on the table granted some breathing space as the hybrid looked at them. "I got you strawberry. Blueberry for that one."

Dante knew what he was doing, standing from his seat and occupying the right side of his view hoping to snap him out of his mind moseying into a bottomless arcane pit of subpar normalcy; he fell out of the trance by a tender squeeze to his shoulder, jolted out of his daydream with a sigh of relief at the worthier reality right under his feet. "Get dressed; I don't want Vergil to see you upset."

With the effects of the day, seeing his attempt at veiling his anguish saddened him, his vices cut in quarters and unable to do anything because of the spell. "Has he said anything to you?"

He barely recognised the small voice. "No, but I will get into trouble if he sees you like this."

"But he knows why-"

"Regardless." Dante uncrossed the inimical stance and set his arms at his sides, kneading at his wrists as the best way to calm the human into his planned routine, downstairs and raining inferno on the equipment designed for that torture. "Get it out of your system. Dinner will be waiting for you."

Everything sounded like a good idea when Dante said it, even if it was yours to begin with. Still, he wanted the answer for the sake of interest and for future reference as a viable threat. "Seriously, why aren't you healing?" If true Dante weren't eavesdropping, the imperceptible plea would have been just that. "It looks like your face caught on fire and someone tried to put it out with a fork."

He was getting creative with his analogies, and the inaccuracy garnered a deep tasteless chuckle. "It's a brother thing; it has to get into my head and make me regret every decision I've ever made before it'll go away."

That was simple enough to understand. "And if Dante hits you, it must have been fucked up."

Granted if he were in a better mood, he'd play along. "It was-"

"When one of the sweetest, kindest, most caring and loving people in the world who never gets angry punches you that hard, you have to take a step back and realise you can wrap bacon around Jalapeno poppers."

That wasn't an awful notion. "What?"

Dante's shoulders reverberated in a light chuckle that gave Nero the go-ahead to add gasoline to the miniscule spark of amusement among them. "Ya know, being lost in thought and its unfamiliar territory."

Vergil scratched at his forearm. "What does that even mean-"

"Having two brain cells: one is in a wheelchair and the other one is pushing."

He nodded along. "Okay-"

"You're not the dumbest person on the planet, but you sure better hope he doesn't die – that kinda thing."

"I get it, I really do." The younger thought he was over the kerfuffle this morning, but his concern hurt more all things considering. He knew he couldn't fix it, and wanting to alter the subsequent nature of their fate stood to fuck it up some more before they had a chance to enjoy it. The twin had no clue why it hit him as hard as it did, the human hitting the nail on its flattened head like he deserved. This was what Lars was feeling, wasn't it, involuntarily having his brother's inadequate innards crumble with the smallest hint of emotion coming from the human as he spun and slowly walked into the lengthy pantry, searching for any excuse and anything in a can to add to the meal that would sate the unstoppable party of two.

Nero saw him disappear behind the door, wondering if he hadn't taken it a tad too far. Vergil wasn't the type to dawdle on stuffs for longer than necessary, especially with Nero; so many hours had transpired and he was skittish to his odd behaviour under the topic of discussion, registering the complete opposite in his head of the usual temperament and insults that spewed back and forth until one of them didn't have the balls to continue. His bizarre hypothesis was taking shape and he didn't know what to do with it. The man in front of him spotted the daydream once again, squeezing harder and earning a visible wince and twitch to his face to accommodate the pain. "Throttle the equipment if you really have to – there's nothing more soothing than watching sand drip out of a punching bag."

The teen did as he was told, clutching his arm all the way to his room and looking back at the nearly bare-chested demon, trailing his eyes along the waistband of his jeans stopping just short of colliding with his bedroom door and entering quickly with a knowing cyan tinkle that couldn't be seen until it was too late, latching his door into its socket as Dante came out of the pantry picking from an open – crushed – can of peach slices cramming and chipmunking them in the pockets of his cheeks. True Vergil grabbed the plastic bag on the table and put it in the fridge, joining his brother and stealing a slice in its slippery juices. He watched his own mouth chomp down the fruit in no time, swallowing big chunks at a time that made his eyes water at the strain in his throat – bless his soul he was stress eating, occasionally taking a sip from the can to aid the struggling pieces easier down his raw oesophagus; the juice was normally the best part whereby the elder took the can from him, shaking his head if he'd be damned such sugars to enter his body and drank the entire thing in one go, setting a stellar big brother example by taking the fruity punch for a good cause. He wiped the corners of his mouth while throwing the tin away, standing opposite the cook who checked his elements one last time, the elder brother leaning on the counter parallel to the dining table. "I can't tell what he's thinking."

Dante removed the steaks to rest on the counter, chewing on the last bits of peach from his attack earlier. "Guess we have to do this the hard way."

"As opposed t-" They thought the same thing – he felt dirty at their mutual conscientiousness. "-you're ridiculous."

"Nero has pointed that out."

The kitchen fell silent as they heard his bedroom door squeak open, his flat light footsteps carrying him across the lounge without a break in his stride and the twins going unnoticed as they stood dead still, the blur of purple blinded by the thick black headband he wore on the instances he needed to purify the hell out of anything he could get his hands on and went straight to the underground gym; they mapped his whereabouts as he drifted from the weights to the treadmill and back, undecided on what would be best to leave the bad remnants of the day. The twins closed their eyes in concentration of his movements, no matter how small, gaging the truth of his actions meant on par with his words and outright negating his cool head he had mere moments ago – his usual measured breathing and controlled demeanour was lost in the rampant air quickly hovering around his physique, penetrating the soft skin and driving his punches and kicks with the force of a two-ton truck, concentrating the attacks on the wrong joints with faults in his twisting that could lead to immense injury and pain when the adrenaline fizzed away under the pressure of his indignation and unrestrained hormones that, when combined, was a path best left open and clear for a good few hours of its onset. The punching bag stood no chance against that level of agitation, pulling off his protective gloves to feel the burn of his power on the companion, the inelastic material meeting its unorthodox match from his innumerable brawling swings and kicks that would surely leave a few marks. The brothers didn't need Lars' superhuman vision to see his face and its tell-tale, loneliness paying the part of the better company to host him and his rollercoaster of a day from the prying eyes of his caregivers.

True Dante opened his eyes first, watching his body on the opposite end breathe deeply and pop the muscles in his neck; the younger blinked and Vergil was up the stairs, impatiently opening drawers and cupboards in a mild panic. "Top right at the mirror," Dante whispered, grazing his temple as Vergil donned navy sweats on route to the hidden entrance, jogging down the steps and thinking at a million miles a second, digging in his pockets out of sheer nervousness. Not only couldn't he be Vergil, but he had to attempt a solemn Dante; the notion alone had failure stamped on it in bright red, searing all the way through and branding the deepest pits of his upset stomach that bubbled with determination, secretly happy he could use this an as excuse to be alone with him. "Do what you have to."

The elder nodded, conjuring Yamato beforehand. "I'll be borrowing this." The day had come. "You know he's going to hate us for the next few days."

"We can live with that."

He spoke on behalf of both of them; he technically could. He played with and twirled the sword in every direction, treating the powerful tool that sealed off the demon world like a sharp baton in the hands of a skilled drum majorette to quell – or rather shred – the vacillation he pretended he didn't see tangled in his brother's grey matter. Vergil stood in his favourite position with his hands latent at the top of the hilt, giving his sibling a small smile. "If you find yourself constantly trying to prove your worth to someone, you've already forgotten your value. Take it as you will." He kept his head bowed as he exited the space, the gold string of the katana flowing behind him while leaving the door wide open, not as an invitation but an escape route for Nero's unanticipated reaction to finally learning the truth that they had taken from him without his permission.

Dante walked around the perimeter of the kitchen and straight to his cell, biting the inside of his cheek as he typed. _Vergil's about to do it; we think it's time._

Hanson replied in a heartbeat. _Are you sure?_

The hybrid needed to trust his gut on this one. _Yes. He can handle it; he's strong enough._

He could hear the sigh on the other end. _You know him best. I'll tell Lars._

Safer option. By far. _How is he?_

 _He's at work and I'm making dinner. Gave him an earful before he left, so I can't be sure this lasagne will be eaten._

 _And how are you?_

The question must have stumped him, taking a few seconds longer to type an answer. _I gave him grief; I said what I needed to. I can only wait and hope it gets through that immortal skull of his._

 _You're immortal too._

 _Doesn't make me stubborn; he gets that from your father._

Hanson wasn't lying. _He's going to have questions; would you mind if we came over tomorrow?_

It was a head's up; they wouldn't say no. _Lars and I would love that._

 _On the topic of love… Did you say lasagne?_

Again, another sigh from the incubus – deeper this time – possibly also covering his eyes defeated by the power at the mention of food. _Your piece will be in the fridge._ The three dots signalling another message kept him rooted in place. _Be there for him, okay?_

Dante nodded to no one in particular, smiling at the opportunity to hold true to his oath he made in front of a bunch of random strangers who knew nothing of the impact the boy had made in his existence and feeling the uncomfortable burn at the bridge of his nose that broke his stoic image, swallowing the rubber ball in his throat as his fingers moved on autopilot by his commanding subconscious. _More than ever._


	8. Pixels - part 2

The trip down the dimly lit spiral staircase and the anticipation of putting a picture to the gruesome sounds echoing at the end of the corridor was the worst, even if you know exactly who was making them and what they were doing; the claustrophobic space void of anything but a few overhead lights and a single door resembled the image of passing to the afterlife, following the brightness until your face smacked against a heavy door and opening it to see another version of Hell altogether – Heaven for some – the conundrum teetering in favour of walking back up the tolling steps and into the contrasting space that was the rest of the house, enjoying the heavy polluted air instead of the cleaner, sterile smell that was every flavour of disinfectant. Dante had now reached to the point of no return, gripping the brass knob of the gym and focussing once more to locate the exhausting human in the open plan, seeing him at the heavy sandbag hailing from the sky looking to the ceiling, coincidentally directly underneath where he believed Vergil stood with dinner in the making. He turned at the intrusion and nearly had a heart attack at the sheath of baby blue material, clenching his teeth in relief at the younger's body entering the humidity that was the allotted distraction they'd agreed upon. The hybrid slipped through and gestured for him to continue his pace, shifting his attention to the centre of the mat where he would wait patiently until a sufficient amount of rage was out of his system; the context was to be administered under the simplest of settings and with the least amount of strain to any part of his body, and this was a good way to get what was hobbled inside into the air to disperse with the remaining particles that promoted utmost peace and tranquillity – if he was going to make such an elaborate lie he might as well believe it, going against every principle he'd instilled and lived by for the graces of humanity to beat his overthinking brain to the punch and surprise him. The older twin thought he knew Nero enough to imagine the scenario and its consequences, but as it played out he wasn't in the hot seat and his brother was present to sponge the bullets shot in his direction. Funny how things worked out, didn't it?

True Vergil observed the ball of muscle in all his black glory, watching the single-armed tight spandex shirt strike at every angle utilising different types and speeds of momentum to drive the bag into a seizure, rocking back and forth and absorbing all but one of his powerful slugs; deep breaths and a deep growl plummeted his right fist into the middle of the bag on his swing back to equilibrium, pulverising the material like a cloud of smoke as it exploded on the opposite side looking like a droopy character from a nineteen thirties cartoon as the tough exterior sank and softened with the loss of its essence to the floor below. His naked right arm flexed at the feat, shaking the excess tension from his bleeding knuckles while his covered left was limp against his tall frame, twisting both wrists as he came down from his inebriated flash of perceived arrogance that rode hand in hand with violent passion as the ideal output for his blender of mixed emotions. Nero faced Dante in a frenzy, breathing out of rhythm and beads of sweat taking individual races to the finish line that was his jaw, dripping onto the dark material and evaporating at the instantaneous heat coming from him; the veins in his triceps bulged in sync after their hard work, straightening the headband along his hairline and giving Dante a good eyeful of the results his efforts were showing; the matching-coloured sweats were no help, sitting an inch too low underneath his hipbones and shifting in tune with his breathing as a small sliver of drenched skin was visible below the hem line of his shirt. The twin walked across the room and grabbed his fingerless gloves he was meant to wear to prevent a mishap like this from occurring, pocketing the set and resuming his unwavering stance at the spongy mat; it was too good a replication, Nero thought, envisioning the other and seeing no difference to their poses, granted Dante was playing the fool to do justice to the deadly weapon nestling sombrely in his grasp. He quickly tapped the foam three times giving the teen a tiny fright, alarmed more by the subdued unmoving facial expression upon their connected stares. "There's more to break."

He took a good look at the surrounding opponents, either tough as nails or would bite back the instant he rumoured to have the upper hand. In addition, he didn't have the money to replace all of it at one time, and restricting himself to a military-grade punching bag was already a step over the cautionary thin yellow line of his monthly allowance. "I think I'm done for now."

"In that case, join me," said Dante, pointing to a spot on the mat with the sheath; he obliged, his bare feet unable to handle the dead weight of his body while slumping to the invisible X, midway being lifted off the ground and thrown on his back with no means of warning whatsoever. He didn't see it coming, the tackle stemming from nowhere and no extra strings attached whilst the twin giggled next to him, snuggling between his legs and placing his palms flat at his ribs and smiling apologetically. "I'm not taking any chances on some random bits of fizz launching at me."

Remarkably, it didn't hurt. "Fine; this one I'll deal with for my own sake."

"There's a good boy." Dante smoothed his tousled hair, calmly sitting back on his knees remembering his complex place in the entirety of the situation. He wondered how many more mistakes he'd make in his sibling's armour, counting three and four as he massaged both his ankles and calves while he retrieved the breath that left him by surprise. "Can I steal some time from you? There's something I need you to see."

Nero so much wanted to lie there and take his penalty, breathing easier at the strain relief in his lower body; he sat straight up, flattening his feet to the floor for the smallest workout on record and calming further as Dante's face came into view, offering a warming melancholy smile at the sight of his untense shoulders. "I thought I'd do all the talking-"

"Later." Dante tried to shake his hair out of his face and made a worse mess, curling his lips and blowing upward to no avail; the human shuffled closer after a mini giggle fit, moving the mane of silver to its proper places piece by piece, working inward with the flow of the style and progressively twirling them around his fingers – a tactic he was taught by the victim to hold the uncooperative strands in their rightful spots. He added his other hand into the mixture, climbing into his knees and toying with the smaller hairs on their tailored route that would usually greet him with a face succumbed to a mouthful of sour gummy worms, and now… nothing. "This is something that's been undeservedly been kept from you… and we believe you have the right to see it and take back what was yours to begin with. There is no right time to do this…" The teen continued on, raking the hair outward from his crown all around his head, feeling the purrs dissolve out the hybrid's mouth. "You're making this difficult to try and be serious."

That was the point; he sat still nonetheless, rubbing his hands on his thighs as his rolling eyes comforted the gigantic step forward in Nero's manliness to play in a grown man's hair to delay the switch of topic. The muscular hips swaying in front of him were tempting, smoothing his lips together before breaking his momentum and snapping his head toward the ceiling and blankly stared his brother's hair out of the ponytail grip Nero was having too much fun with. "Who's we?"

The twin regretfully pulled the fingers to a lower level, crushing them in his grasp. "The four of us."

Last time he counted, there were only two. "Four?"

"It will make sense in the next few minutes." Dante gingerly held his hands, holding a temperate glare that Nero wanted to avoid. "We did this thinking it would be a better choice for you to start fresh, not knowing it would come back to bite us. It hasn't really bitten yet, but down the line it might, and it may be too late-"

"Dante, you're scaring me." He smiled unconvincingly, too afraid to let go and more frightened at the grave hint soberly lining his usual carefree features; it faded like an inked sketch on paper dripping from a healthy trip in the rain, the remnant aftermath making its mark on the canvas as it ceased purpose from its original meaning and took an obscure shape that amplified the gloom of the moment, pointing the edges of his prior content in the wrong direction. And for the first time in so long, as Dante or Vergil, the twin had no clue what to do or say to encourage himself to carry through with the plan after a mere mention of it altered the fibres swathing his insides, tightening his entire core into a ball of nerves similar to tinfoil and yarn cuddled in a wrestling match.

The twin helped Nero's swift fall planting him in a relaxed position, gently easing his grip to claim the sword and get the ordeal over with; the teen tentatively crossed his legs and creaked his neck awkwardly at the shiny blade making its short doomy appearance, the bland taste of blood and syrup hitting his tonsils most unnervingly as the hybrid coiled the weapon in his steady clasp. "This is going to hurt. I don't want you to be scared."

Mentally, emotionally, and physically; the teen was incredibly strong-willed and there was one outcome unbeknownst to both of them, waiting patiently at the perimeter of the room for its moment to shine. "You're doing a horrible job at convincing me."

Dante shuffled behind him, setting Yamato to the boy's right. "I'll be here with you every step," he said, sticking his nose into his hair on instinct. "Vergil too."

He always did this when he thought he couldn't offer anything else, seeing his younger brother on a number of occasions as Nero was studying in a corner of his room or outside on the patio with a roaring fire; in the kitchen after a long day of nothing going right; sitting with his feet in the pool reading a book when he shut himself off for the day, shutting the book the instant his lips touched the light strands in defeat at the cuteness of his accustomed, hard, badass exterior with the tough and cuddly mushiness encased. The human dropped his shoulders and patted Dante's head, hiding a chuckle at what must have been an exaggerated performance for the result to not hit as badly as everyone involved was anticipating; from his crown to his neck, the boy skimmed the pads of his fingertips along the ridge of the pale skin and into the crook, giving it a caring squeeze and warranting a hot breath to part his hair and prickle his scalp. "What do you need me to do?"

"What you're doing now." The twin's knuckles turned the same white colour as the hilt, wrapping the milky digits to unsheathe its killing glory and glint in the light that shone directly into Nero's eyes; blinded for a millisecond, he felt his hands being stretched palm-side up in front of him to witness one the worst feelings he imagined to never accede to: he chose to skew his mouth as the burn came and went with a swift cut along the span of both his palms, blood pooling along the tiny crevices that had been there since birth. The puddle of blood on his hands was sucked on the surface of Yamato, resembling a DNA helix in tribal form flowing in sync and twisting down the sword stopping just short of dripping onto the mat at the tip of the blade and glowing a bright crimson, sparking small flames that inched closer to the hilt and cauterising his wounds; the heat seeped up his forearms and kept them in an appropriate position for the second stage, freezing his entire body and ceasing its regular functioning while echoing all the way through his immune system, sending warning messages to his frozen, blocked off brain and icing off normal processing except his hearing. It took two full minutes for him to 'die', breathing his last breath and tightening his grip on the bleeding sword. The shell dropped his chin to his chest and Dante closed his eyes, leaving creamy spots in the translucent skin as his hands caressed his soft neck; to his amazement, Nero utilised the last bit of his energy to lean into it, tilting his head to the warm in the last few seconds of his livelihood – Yamato screeched in a full blue flame that scorched the boy's skin, oozing the inferno and its black smoke into every open pore and taking with the tar the fragments of the embedded lost memories unhurriedly forming a misty picture inside his subconscious. "I won't leave you, Nero."

The words resounded on the frozen walls, bouncing and cracking on the safer layer of the thinner barrier blocking him from regaining control of his limbs until the sword had competed his instruction, the essence of mounting recollection growing in size at delivering the forgotten emotion attached to them, unfaded with the time that had passed and squashing the hope it wouldn't be as taxing as when it was first stolen. The twins were cripplingly reliant on his maturity and how he chose to compartmentalise the younger versions of himself and the outside influences at play in his 'past' life; no matter how hard they tried, no force could compel or motivate the hybrids to imagine his reaction or possibly get close to a suspected conclusion, reflecting only on the pure hatred and disappointing aspects of the reveal. True Vergil rubbed a tender thumb on the cold cheek, moving his hair behind his ear for a clearer view of his face and slicing his middle finger to break the blood seal on the epitaph at the top of the hilt, smearing the ichor on the unholy emblem causing a small vibration on the weapon and dispelling a sphere of magic to burst out of Nero's lost blood to encircle them from interruption, making the pair invisible to anyone being walking through the entrance of the gym. Vergil toyed with the golden strings as any shape of contact sufficed, drawing from him the binding enchantment that allowed the pilfered shards to return home.

Nero took quick glances around the black bottomless space, seemingly floating in cold nothingness, stark naked inviting the chilled bite to nibble on his skin with a glaze to his sight that became clearer with every passing second, forming an image he was more familiar with yet unfamiliar in every aspect other than its picturesque nature: a little boy sat with a bowl of cereal in front of a blaring TV dribbling milk tinged in many colours, openly laughing at a dumb grey cat chasing a brown mouse succeeding his intelligence; in a kitchen to his left stood a screaming couple fighting over a pot of stew and pointing to the oblivious boy enjoying himself, grabbing at ties and blouse collars for the duration of the episode and taking breathers between commercials until another program sprang in colour on the child's stare, smiling and completely aware a mother and father were arguing over a new pair of shoes his size standing tall on the dining room table. Nero turned his head to the clock above the TV and saw it was eleven thirty five, noting that no child should be in front of a screen that late at night and subconsciously blaming his sleeping problems on the exact moment. The picture froze mid-action, the mother's hand held high over her head, the father tilting his expression in a dare, and the boy with both of his hands up in victory and the milk of his cereal flying onto the floor. It swirled in a blend of vegetable soup to another image of the same woman and her son in a bathroom he vaguely recognised, bawling his eyes out at the trademark burn of the improper application of hair dye, black smudges running down his face mixing with the smear of tears while the mother scrubbed messy black spots on the floor and murmuring that 'he was going to kill her if he saw this', and yes, she had disregarded his disagreement at the endeavour in the first place. The front door to the small apartment opened and the man from before ran to the screams, busting down the door to comfort his impending black-haired son, absolutely furious at the act of going behind his back. 'It doesn't look so bad now; he won't stand out as much as before,' she said; the father gave her one look and she removed herself from the picture at light speed. He gently set the boy in the tub and shushed him tenderly, grabbing a bucket under the basin and filled it with lukewarm water. 'It's okay now, my boy,' he said, removing the tiny Buzz Lightyear t-shirt he'd received for his birthday and bending him forward to rinse his hair. The man turned to see the woman continue nonchalantly hanging the colourful ornaments on the big spiky pine tree in the corner of their lounge; Nero took steps forward toward the adult and the lump in his throat, breathing a shaky breath as he turned his attention to his son and his discomfort. 'This is going to burn, okay? I have to get it all out, Nero.' The sound of his name soothed the past and present editions, both watching the black water tint the dark green ceramic of the bath.

The dark stream obscured the transition into another memory with an eight minute timer counting down in the bottom right corner where the man from earlier held his tiny hand as they walked with two Toy Story backpacks and another tog bag the adult carried in his empty hand; the third person perspective shifted and placed him directly in the little boy's shoes, looking upward at the attempt of a smile as they talked about insignificant things and walked into a large plot surrounded by a low wooden gate that stretched the length of a huge white single story home and its accompanying garden in the front yard. The man knocked three times and averted his worrying eyes to a much older woman filling the space of the door. 'We spoke on the phone.' Flat, disheartened regret was all he heard, being pushed over the threshold as the woman got down on her haunches and accepted all three bags. 'This is everything he owns.' Her reply was blurry and muffled and he tried to wiggle forward to read her lips, his true form wrenched back into the third person at the bulldozing hunk of flesh down the pebbled path and down the street from which they came, reaching out to him as he turned at the sound of his son crying and hobbling onto his legs. He fell to his knees and held him close, his tears forever soaked in the tiny patched cloak that was the warmest piece of clothing he owned. Nero stopped next to the ball of sadness in the road, swivelling between them and the woman at the gate holding back tears; that face was more familiar than his own father's. 'Is mommy gonna be mad?' The man shook his head on his shoulder, sniffing and swallowing his gloom to appear strong for his son. 'She doesn't know where you are.' The timer hit zero and a freeze frame of the man cupping his young face left too many questions than answers in his mind, confused at the broad smile on his childish features upon hearing he would be hidden out of view of the monster perceived as his very own mother. This particular one he remembered somewhat, more the pain of seeing his only family walk away for his own protection than the act of giving him to be cared for by strangers. The promise of coming back would be left open for hawks and vultures to pick at, satisfying their appetite at his void expense. The significance of him losing both of his parents on that day cut close to the bone, recalling the next few seconds of waving to the man unknowing it would be the final goodbye until many years had passed, hitting him a tad worse when he was able to compute his family wasn't planning to come get him; he kept his gaze fixed on the picture, anxious as to whether he would have done more to stay at his father's side had he been told the truth, figuring it wasn't worth fighting for if it meant going back home to a fate of pain and misery at the hands of the woman he barely knew as his mother. The beauty and sadness of the image zoomed out as part of a film reel, replacing the tender moment with depictions and flashes of his child- and teenhood that portrayed the same melancholic, lonely tone doused in filters of uncolour, except for one that he nearly missed as it sped past him: Nero extended his reach and touched it, zooming in to fill the dark space of he and a uniformed police officer talking over some bread and stew; from where he stood they were both unbelievably happy engrossed in conversation he wouldn't dare think of, sparking a flame of warmth he could feel spread outward to the rest of his frame. On its own, it zoomed out and began another highlight reel with the same officer in every moving picture, handing out gifts to the many that shunned him and calling to join him in their favourite corner, handing over the best gift out of the lot each time. Nero watched teary-eyed at his growth and his friends reverse ageing; a constant face and changing hair meant one thing to him now, glad he didn't carry such prejudice at the impressionable age that would have doomed the very livelihood he now lived. Every photo had the letters L-A-R-S written in obscure capitals like it was a different language, becoming happier as the images progressed.

All the goodness saturated in them caught fire, his subconscious lighting the match on the flammable substance in all but a picture so pure it could be on a postcard, fresh scenery on a summers day and the sliver of a school uniform on the left side that traded the warmth from before to a toxic retch stuck in his throat, growing in sourness the closer the picture came into view. Alarm bells rang in his head raising in volume until he chose to watch what it had in store, shutting everything down as it played in normal time: the high-schooler walked down a clean empty street he remembered on sight, glimpsing a police car parked at the opposite curb; he tried to smile at the uniform inside but the fear of being caught was too great, bowing his glare to the uneven pavement and adjusting the straps on his school backpack before walking up a flight of stairs concealed from every angle. This experience was miles different from the others as Nero felt everything the figure was, recognising the drop of his stomach as he breathed at the front door seconds prior to opening it, looking straight into his own eyes while stepping inside his supposed home. He screamed for the boy to not enter for some reason and the plea fell on deaf ears as another face looked to see if he was followed. No amount of strung profanities would break the surface of his anger the moment the disgusting face came into his line of sight, personifying boiling rage in the seconds it took for him to run up the stairs and have the door slammed in his face consequent of his terribly timing. The slam banged in his eardrums and forced a wince out of him, blinking for a millionth of a second to induce sudden pitch darkness, washing the sepia tone in favour of a colour to replicate the tone of what was to come. Thin slices of light shone through above and below his eye level and a deep muffled voice could be heard while both instances floated in a depressing abyss of sensory elimination, diagnosing the dread with the onset of cotton mouth and unease that something terrible was about to happen – his breathing became lighter and restricted in a full panic, tears pooling on his cheek instead of flowing down his face. He was far too confused at what to feel, attempting to moisten his oesophagus while a searing pain pulled on his eyelids, coming face to face with a vision temporarily branded into his memory. With the burden of sight came the raw bruising on his body made present by incessant concentration and fear for the other things he may do to him; there was a toothy grin and evil in his dead orbs, spooning brown lumpy sludge into his mouth, losing his vision to scratches and greyscale blotches instilled on his pupils like an old movie transitioning between scenes. He was grateful for the haziness in his courage as the next scene formed like white smoke, keeping dead still while the room filled with uniformed officers dragging a flailing lump by all four limbs into the other room, teasing and degrading the man who had given him months of torture and ridicule. Nero didn't look but heard the boy shaking against his restraints and calming what parts he could, feeling the aura of his best friend in the adjacent room and calling his name. 'Lars, is that you?' He already knew the answer, cheeky bastard. The tall demon responded to his name simmering in fury with a green hue following him; Nero was able to get a good enough look at the man who kneeled at his feet, hiding his true nature in every way he could as they resumed a normal everyday conversation in the midst of forthcoming doom.

The future events flew by in fast forward – Lars' hair swooshing around, being hovered over a toilet that hadn't been cleaned in months and plonked into an empty bath, going and returning to his side, ripping the stickiness off his undernourished body; Nero stood at the threshold after making way for Lars to come through and crumbled at a distance, realising what he must have felt to see him in such a time of need in the grave circumstances put forward by the rescue itself. Given no time to reflect, the movie flashed forward once again and halted on Hanson's face as he lay bundled in his arms; all the love he knew to exist in the galaxy were present in his green eyes and bewitching smile, getting giddy in his present form at the piece that finally clicked into place, altering to a space of connection much deeper than he anticipated. He felt so silly at the slow movement of the brothers and how incredible the flicker of reality made him feel, finally grasping a sense of time in the hour-long conundrum presented to him without warning on the incapacitating toll his mental and emotional well-being would be exposed to. It hadn't killed the fact that he appreciated every second of it, more embarrassed at the notion of his caregivers seeing his sorry excuse of a life before they came and finished his picture for him, unable to see the man he is now as a viable result from what he had just witnessed.

The script was flipped on him with sounds stemming from behind, jumping out of the middle of a raining street he woke up to every day, facing his current home and nearly knocked over by Dante's red Camaro parking field side directly parallel to his front door. Hanson climbed out quickly and picked the small figure out of the backseat, crossing the street faster than a normal human and setting him back on the ground for him to get a good look at his new home. The three stories baffled him and it was big. He liked big. _Still do_ , he thought to himself. 'Don't set them on fire on your first day; when I say warm them up, I don't mean in a literal sense, you got me?' Nero heard his younger self giggle. It was the first time in years. 'Those two in there are very important to us and I want them to love you.' He took a deep breath through his nose and the smells coming from inside were heavenly and unlike anything he'd ever eaten, judged solely on the idea that he had no clue what it was. Present Nero did the same and it was Dante's chicken soup; the very same that had driven common influenza out the back door and made him feel a dime a dozen in times of turmoil or when he wanted to be twenty times more peckish on a healthy variation of his usual meals. Hanson gave four hearty knocks to the massive door and faint noises erupted from the inside, seeing Vergil's striking face peep through the small space he made, relieving the chain and opening it fully. No words transpired between the beings but at least now he knew why, earning his infamous blank expression turned on full blast at the red cheeks puffed from the cold peeking over a thick scarf; out of nowhere came an identical face popping over the tall shoulder, bulging his eyes at the package holding onto Hanson's hand for dear life and cowering behind the equally intimidating physique. He laughed, recalling that moment of mild fear at suddenly seeing double and the blessing it had been. The door opened wider and they stepped in, leaving adult Nero in the rain as the door shut him from the festivities, the bang of the oak collapsing the remaining scene to dust that swept over his physique, bringing with it a few flecks of a hot bath, cotton pyjamas, low lighting and a Bundt cake. He wanted to understand it all before his time ran out but it all fizzed from the inside out, the king of dreams burning the butt of his cigar in the exact centre of the chasm he too dissolved into and became one with the darkness, observing his fingers fall into nothing and opening his eyes to Dante's soft scared face and doe orbs with a slight chill in the air.

The twin kept his word and stayed by his side, watching the blood reverse to their homestead bringing colour to his entirety and searing his skin in a bulbous scab that Vergil would fix in a heartbeat. Dante seized the weapon and set it in its case, laying it at the perimeter of the mat while the viscosity of the bubble pulled and effervesced until it was no more. He crossed his legs and forced himself to look at the pale face that was having a bit of trouble in processing what he'd just seen. Getting back to reality was the hardest part as the abyss brought a sense of numbness with it; when floating in emptiness, the burden of reality isn't as heavy as it would later lead to be, and the tweak from being light as a feather to a weighty mass of flesh and bone hit harder than it ever should, altering the load to a substantial punch in the gut that made you sick to your stomach. The twin bit his tongue at the sad eyes that began to water, intrinsically begging him for the full story. He was a better story teller than Dante anyway. "In short, your parents had only been together for a short time before your mother fell pregnant. She wanted to get an abortion immediately and your father begged him not to, claiming he'd marry her if she kept the baby full term. They married the following week but absolutely hated each other, mainly owing to her being jealous of the time and effort he was putting into the preparation of raising you. Your father couldn't get enough of his first born and she was fed up with having to share; they had agreed that he would take care of you but she couldn't comprehend how much money, sweat and tears it would be. She was an average Jane and she liked it that way, so put yourself in her shoes in having a son with hair brighter than any prospects she had in life. You stood out like a sore thumb and she made you believe it was a bad thing and you shut yourself up and off from everything but your father because he was the only person who had treated you like a fucking human being-" he closed his eyes and twisted his neck, squaring his jaw at the momentary lapse of partiality, be it true or false. "He was the breadwinner which meant he couldn't spend much time with you; your mother stayed and home-schooled you to save money and face. Your education meant less than her image." He took another breath. "She taught you the basics and that was enough; the odds and ends you saw were when teaching ended and motherhood began. The hair dyeing incident was the last straw and your father planned to send you for one year only; he did come back for you, but the mothers on duty reported that he was in no way fit to take you home. He'd lost a ton of weight and looked terribly sick; she called a hospital to pick him up. You were with Lars at the time and no one would disturb you. The rest is self-explanatory." The truth was that he hadn't ventured further in the file, already pissed that a child would get the bad end of a heads-or-tails coin toss each time and more so that the advantage of knowing wouldn't better him as a person in any way. He simply didn't want to and that was the beginning and end of it. What sick bastard would benefit information of that calibre leaking to the masses?

Nero listened with a blank glare on a piece of wall above Dante's head. "Do you know who Lars is?"

"I do," he said, cracking his knuckles to not spill incongruous beans. "He chose us to look after you because of the legal trouble he'd be in if he kept you."

Ah, Vergil's favourite L word. "And Hanson?"

"We're close, but he doesn't like me as much as he'd tolerate Vergil." He wasn't lying. True Vergil kept a cautious eye on him, the data not yet hitting his cerebral cortex. "It's a lot to take in and I won't lie and say I know how you feel; all I can offer are answers-"

"Tell me about the last bit." The human stood slowly and walked to the fridge, fetching two bottles of sparking water and handing one over as he sat back in his dent, avoiding the demon's fussy gaze by playing with the plastic. "Where does that fit in?"

The elder twin remembered it like it was yesterday, left alone to give his side of the story to the open pairs of ears. "That was your first official day with us. After Hanson said goodbye for the fourth time, you were shaking and we didn't know why. We were stupid, of course, because the house was freezing and we don't feel cold. Vergil suggested a bath before dinner and owing to it being so late we decided to let you sleep everything off and talk the next day about formalities and such. Straight after eating six bowls of soup – yes, six-" he held up six fingers just in case, "-we finally got you into bed making sure you were snoring before turning off your nightlight. D-" he pretended to choke, taking a sip of his water. "I left the door open because I read somewhere it's a good thing to do in 'complex' situations; we didn't have a definition of complex so early but it seemed a good idea. We were going to burn some midnight oil and get your papers sorted and have everything done at once, keeping the day open for that purpose. You were missing a birth certificate-"

"Missing or didn't have one?"

Each choice had a facet to being worse than the other. "Lars called the orphanage and put in an enquiry for it, but nothing turned up. And being the impatient sod he is, he went to the affairs office and got the forms instead." He'd leave the part about it being for the possible adoption out of the multipart equation. "While we were making leeway, you came out of your room and saw us at the table and offered to help; you were clinging to a pillow and climbed onto a seat next to me-i-eye brother. He wasn't as comfortable as you were but something snapped in him that was strange to see."

Nero looked up. "What… like… he was okay with it?"

"More than that." He might as well get done with the awkward part. "He was being nice. Vergil hates putting in effort to be nice, but it seemed natural. I'm not sure if he read the files on the case, but it was so out of place I had to stop what I was doing and look over the table to him explaining things to you; nothing too hectic, still it was something I couldn't have predicted in my wildest dreams." The beauty was that it didn't have to make sense. "We had somehow gotten onto the topic of birthday parties and the like, and you said you never had a single one. The only thing you should every worry about at your age was how big the cake was going to be, and yet-" This was a new record. "So we put down the papers and had one for you; thankfully, and because of my illustrious diet of all things sweet, we're always fully stocked in that department. Vergil made a quick cake in the microwave and I dug out some candles; you ate yourself into a food coma." Yep, that sounded like him; it gave him great joy to know he was a glutton as a tradition. "We took your memory the next day and went after our errands to get you a decent gift." Nero remembered that; searching for a good electronics shop and running at full speed to the only thing on his Christmas list for an entire day. He found it odd that he was a scarred happy child right off the bat, and they still did their best to earn his trust the right way. "We tried not to think we were selfish."

The word didn't suit them. "Have you two seen this?"

"Vergil has. The sword has a mind of its own and he would have seen it regardless of not wanting to. I've never wanted to, but I've heard snippets."

The human unscrewed the cap on his bottle. "Heard?"

In what galaxy would explaining a sword could talk in an ancient language understood by those who could decipher it make any sense? "Yes, heard."

Nero tried to look anywhere but the handsome face within reach, snaking onto anything that would keep his attention for the time being. Keeping to his nature, Dante grabbed the hand that wasn't constantly wiping an unnecessarily wet cheek, crunching the excess moisture along the length of the thick scab. He found the best excuse and watched a few grains of sand fall to the floor while his fingers were kneaded and spread as a last ditched to be the shoulder his younger brother normally was, completely lost on the appropriate action in failing to channel the man's caring and enigmatic touch. Nevertheless it was an unwanted ignition blazing an unneeded trail to his throat, bubbling sewage and off-tasting reminisce at his words and gluing his eyes to the sharp side profile and clenching jaw cautious of his anxious baby blues. "I promise I'm fine."

"I believe you," he said; he hadn't pulled out of their contact.

The pair shared a forlorn glance at their joined hands, soft and rife with words and emotions left untouched. "Please tell me what I'm meant to be feeling."

"How do you want to feel?"

"Numb. That's what's happening now."

Dante squeezed his hand reassuringly, making him pick up his wilting vigour for a full blast on untainted admiration in his favourite shade of blue. "Feeling nothing is still feeling something." The boy was so easy to read these days that he may as well have his thoughts on a neon sticky note pasted to his forehead or sewed into his left sleeve, leaving little configuration behind the slightest of his movements. The twin stood and pulled him along, letting go of his hand and extending it to welcome the cyan death blade that knew nothing of gravitational force. "He's upstairs, probably taking a bath. You should be used to that answer by now."

He pointed to the golden tassels swishing in the air. "How did you do that?"

The older held the weapon in both hands, tapping the flat end on has palm. "It offends me that you underestimate my power, Nero."

They boy blushed – still unconvinced – but made his leave quietly, turning the handle with his fingers. "I love you, Dante." He looked back at the wide blank face, pushing the door open in a morbid, abstemious exit that left a piece of him mixed with evaporated sweat in the humidity, smugly clinging to every object in the space until Nero chose to be whole again.

He was out of earshot, not that he needed to be. _Was that good enough?_

Water swished around on loudspeaker. _That was good. I feel bad for being a part of it._

The elder twin began flaming white-hot, his naked sword doing the same. _I'm on standby if you need me._

 _Vergil-_

 _I'm fine._ The flames doubled in size and his eyes scorched a pitiful blue. _I'm fine._

* * *

Nero tightly gripped the handle and closed it gently, focussing the silence on both ends of the house; he made the mistake of looking back, the white wall a perfect canvas for a subtle reply of the newly-acquired resource and cursing his eidetic memory as each flash came with more detail filled in with prior technicolour voids now meshed with his restored thinking making a conclusive whole with the extra bits that were locked away too deep to locate on his own. The pain in his hand made his eyes water, shifting its position on the handle so the wound had no further contact with the slippery brass. Never before would he see himself wince from blankness, stepping backward down the passageway for the images to progressively fade and find solace alone, heavily jogging up the stairs carrying double his normal weight to the living room potent with the smells of dinnertime and powerless against the missing morsel of enjoyment for his favourite dish. He was restless and he hated it, drumming his fingers on the wooden table and failing to keep his composure on all the blank walls taunting him wherever he went. Every twitch of his eye flicked through scene after scene in quick succession, getting used to the forsaken trail that no amount of chocolate could fix. Without thinking, he ran up the stairs to Vergil's bedroom seeing the steam drift through the door left ajar, moving over the threshold with little discretion to his status in personal space.

He didn't care. He needed him.

Vergil's head rested along the ledge of the black claw foot tub with a cool cloth draped on his forehead, looking to his brother's equally dark ceiling and fibre opting lighting that resembled a thousand tiny stars in a night's sky, the scorching temperature emitting steam by the dozen that hazed the small lamps on each corner and providing an extra illuminative boost to the luxury and regret after climbing out of the true definition of relaxation. Dante didn't care much for baths if a shower did his body ultimate justice, but today had not been an exhilarating day; total opposite came nowhere close, and neither did a day in Hell – in fact, he'd experienced better days down below than this. He frolicked on the surface of the water with his fingers, drowning his hand and then quickly exposing it to the air to watch the soothing droplets fall from his tips, sometimes racing one another down the long milky digits to cross his palm on the way down. It was a humble motion that appeased him, fixed on easy scientific mechanics with no chance of confusion or disagreement for the law and how things worked yet elegant in repetition at its simplicity in general, causing soft ripples as the limb broke the quiet exterior time and time again to keep his feeble mind away from the initial reason he was submerged in liquid coal. He sunk lower into the heated lavishness his toes reaching the far end of the tub and pushing his head straight for the cloth to fall and spritz him lightly; too lazy to get up and out, walking the one and a half steps to the basin – not occurring to him a tap performing the same action was within one quarter of his reach – he left the floating cloth to soak up the wrong temperature for its intended purpose. True Dante breathed through his nose and blew bubbles at the unfortunate incident, choosing to rather finish his bath in traditional raisin style when the door opened and Nero slid through the small area he'd created, closing it hastily to lessen the escaping steam. Out of breath and red in the face, the boy leaned his weight onto it, exhausted from the burst of courage required entering the humid space; he appeared significantly smaller than his usual no-nonsense and hard-headed aura, his mind deserts apart from the four tiled walls covered in perspiration. Nero's preoccupied orbs were drawn to the floating head caught mid child-fantasy, raising both faultlessly sculpted eyebrows like it was a run-of-the-mill action and watching between the navy accent and the boy's face with a softened gaze and tentative cheeks that meant a hidden half-smile under the clear water. "Do you need me to do that for you?"

The hybrid narrowed in on the swooshing material, nodding against the clear liquid and forming miniscule waves in its gentle flow allowing parts of the sunken purple bruise to sneak into the conversation; it was an impeccable response granting a silent seal of approval that communication between them was on the cards for as long as he needed to stay. Nero gently grabbed at his objective – Dante resisting the need to fake bite his fingers – and did as he suggested, wringing the warmness and rinsing the cold back into the fibres that were his shield versus the heat coming at all angles. He turned at the sound of Vergil moving his humungous frame to a sitting position and noted the troubling discolouration was going down. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"I would, but…" He trailed off, walking over with the spare chair in tow to sit at Vergil's head, bending it comfortably and placing it directly onto the lukewarm portion of skin and playing with the smaller hairs at his fringe. "The words I need are suited to a brightly lit corner wearing a dunce hat and a slap on the wrist, wallowing time away and never ceasing to exist just because; it's best screamed on top of a lost mountain range so the echo punches me back and everything I have cooped up gets doubly worse."

Nero smoothed the cloth on his skin, shedding cooler droplets down the sides of his handsome face and along the bridge of his nose to cascade onto his Cupid's bow upper lip; he could practically taste the exquisiteness under the guidance of the droplet, tracing the pads of his digits under Vergil's jaw and tilting it upward with painful concern to his wounds, falling victim to his quiet charm and placing a timid, succulent, lingering peck on the manly pink cushiony goodness, sliding his tongue gently into the younger twin's mouth. True Dante's wet hands couldn't resist digging into his soft locks, deepening the kiss and distracting Nero's sense of self-awareness to his unmatched speed and strength: he held his fervour while simultaneously grasping the tight hem of his shirt, heaving him in a forward flip without an appropriate reaction to the immediate shake of his balance, squishing his face in delight as his body hit the deep water that splashed half of the bath onto the tiled floor, slowly sinking onto the stretched physique lining the bottom of the tub; Vergil held him close to his chest and followed the intimate clutch with a quick kiss to the temple, confusing the exuberant excitement the human had just experienced. "The echo is just as good in here." The burn on his back was odd to place given the warm temperature and even warmer frame he sunk into. "Talk to me, kid."

Lost in the moment and the mindless clue uttered by mistake, he held at the arms around his shoulders and waist, snuggling comfortably into his puzzle piece. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Do you assume it's healthy you're not feeling anything?"

Nero rested his head on the huge torso behind him. "I got answers; if I'm being really honest, I could have gone without them, but there's no harm in knowing either."

This was the first official time he admitted to not wanting to know particulars, and the twins would have probably kept the asbestos curtain firmly closed it if hadn't been for one thing. "Hanson told us about your nightmares. No detail, but we figured it best for you to sift through and fill in the snippets from your dreams. At this point, it's unfair to you and we hope they'll stop now that you know the full picture."

"And I appreciate it." He wiggled higher to peck the base of his strong jaw. "It's going to hit me later, I swear."

The twin moved the touch at his hip and ironed and tangled in his strands, inclined to the honesty and intrigue at the tiny voice to his right; his brother was better at voicing the innocent blunders that spiralled out of a mind's proportion and adding a price tag costing more than one's own capability at peace. His fingers trailed softly on his scalp, tracing intricate patterns of lithograph equanimity in pure delight, hearing Nero's heartbeat fall to a steady, rhythmic lullaby translating to wholesome virtue on the amazing surface. The teen intuitively lifted his leg over the monster to the other side, straddling a very naked demon and sitting snuggly on his powerful hips, looking through the clarity on the arrangement of flawless at his disposal to distract himself from the grief that took preference over his depressing childhood. Vergil manoeuvred to two dry spots at the edges of the bath for a closer look, bending his knees and loosely gripping his midsection. "There's something else."

When he spoke in the deep, gruff tone with delicate notes of honey and milk, all attempts at lying were futile. "No there isn't-"

"Don't lie to me young man. I know you better than you think I do." He tapped on the hard flesh directly above his belly button to grab his attention by the pointy end. "There are many things I could do to get you to speak, even more so with the motivation of you being fully clothed."

Vergil was sexy when he got serious, tight-lipped and intimidating until Nero found the gusto to spill the beans. "I couldn't tell him about us. And now I'm doubting if I should."

The sentiment took a few milliseconds for the impact to hit. "You telling him means there's a chance for us."

"We haven't talked about you wanting an us; you go quiet when I choose to, like the words zoom over and around your head with no opportunity to get anything in reply."

The fact of the matter was that he preferred something running in perpendicular similarity over nothing at all, and the hybrid was currently victim of the latter. "Nero, just because I'm silent doesn't mean I have nothing to say."

"What does it mean, then?" Nero couldn't look at him, fixing his interest on his hands flat on the other man's chest. "Are you afraid to take this seriously?"

"You were the one who stressed the idea of no strings attached. You can't hate me for keeping my end of the deal."

There it was. "So that's all it is? A deal?"

It was a pity that would be the best he'd get out of the stoic idiot. "I'm doing what you're asking of me."

Yes; this drama in its entirety, going back and forth with late nights and early mornings, plugging the temporary gulfs with a makeshift romp inducing more sleepless nights, and the overall lies he told himself to end them were indeed all his fault. It rightly was. But he couldn't find it within him to be mad. Furious, misled, upset, yes. But mad, never; Vergil's blunt integrity and his natural knack as a browbeating bastard was what caught his eye in the first place, so being mad would negate the sole motive of him ever wanting something this complicated. The elaborate lie wasn't going anywhere but he was, unable to bear the sight of the identical pale deities. "I'm going for a walk."

Nero's mind was made, and unknown to Dante was Vergil's innate reaction to stop him mid motion of standing up, holding fast onto his thighs pending adequate logic. "Why?"

"It's starting to hit and I don't want to be around either of you."

He tried again; failure. Combining that with the surprise on the twin's face was a recipe he'd never try again. "Do you truly mean that?"

"Yes. I'm wasting my time here. Or should I say I'm wasting yours."

The younger had under no circumstances seen him so angry in all his time in their custody. "Then I can't stop you," he said, giving him the freedom he sounded desperate for, a daring and indefatigable glare shooting at him the phrases he wished he knew to say; Vergil was admirable in admitting defeat but would still go out with one helluva bang with his rich vacancy and hard-learned passion to gain control of the situation, and Dante couldn't do it. The younger's gaze fell incapable of glimpsing the hurt that wasn't anyone's fault, recalling that same look in Lars' eyes when he refused to give him his absence and condemning what seemed to be an outlandish request to suite his own want of a longer reconciliation. He turned the switch on his left to zero, feeling the heat drop instantaneously to retreat from another stab to the chest; the daze of too many things clouded his view as he looked to the boy once more, and in a flash of lighting his back was pushed against the cooling rim of the tub with Nero's full weight over him, holding onto the bath at either side of his head: the pair acted on impulse, digging deep to set aside their difference of a few minutes' opinion to bask in the glory that was their chemistry one last time, falling knee-deep into one another's psyche with the need to remain under the flood of spontaneity and lust; wild and controlled, the enigmatic pair caused monstrous irregular surges of the water to move from side to side, catering for the incomparable must that was the supposed last of its kind; the man on top struggled with his grip as the twin melted every part of him, burrowing his fingers down the length of his back under the fitted material; they both moaned, hungrily, untamed into one another's mouths and cursed the necessity of oxygen in their indelicate routine. They slowed their tempo for their own sakes – Vergil smoothed over his partner's back and hooked his index fingers into his elastic waistband, pushing the bottom half of his body away from his growing greed. To call that satisfying would be in bad taste and unjust to the actual word that should be used to describe it. "What was that for?"

Nero placed their foreheads together, out of breath with a newfound mettle he should have used a long time ago. "If that's our last kiss, I want you to remember it." The boy rose and kissed his forehead, tucking his damp hair out of the way to pucker on both his cheeks too; true Dante was in no mood for cuteness, twisting his head to catch the gesture of chastity between his teeth.

* * *

The steps down the corridor looked like stones chiselled out of a beige tiled mountain, dimly lit to supersede the welfare of his muscles after climbing the short ten step program to exhausting doom, underappreciating his talent for teleportation and knowing it would tire him more but with the benefit of being as far away from one of three of his critically acclaimed mortal enemies in close proximity. The Dante in him gave the flight a once-over in enervation, sighing to the small light above him and glaring death at the door veiling his ultimate freedom as he took the first step, placing both feet flat on the milestone with a flourishing curse under his breath. The other half wanted to do the same but remembered the red flag of blame flying in the wind atop six bold letters spelling out his name, putting on a tired yet brave pout for no one to see and log in a record book and coercing the twin in the driver's seat to take a double step to step number three, half-smiling at the rock-solid stupidity on display. He wished to cheat, he really did, but the piece of him resting in its sheathe grew irritated being used as a walking cane and as such completely unwilling to assist his master in any way. Numbers five – reached by another slower double step – six and seven were better, the burn less heady after a comprehensive pep talk to the lower section of his supposed immortal body. Small, soft footsteps took their time walking to the front door, fighting with strings of rubber and hard plastics presumably looking for a reason to be stopped. Vergil knew these steps and the feet that tentatively searched the room for anything out of place to delay the inevitable, giving any purpose to a miniscule duty to shorten the task he set out for himself. Nero did this when things of his own accord were in play, usually out of routine to cater a blip in his mindset to set his thinking back on its straight, dedicated, dug out path from the thick forest he occasionally wandered into as the weather altered to all four in less than twenty four hours, the thicket too risky owing to its blinding, misty nature and needing a push to get him back on track. The silence of unmoving propelled Vergil in two steps to the top, basking in the light at the end of the short tunnel and coming face to face with a snuggly version of the human – fuzzy scarf and matching beanie with a bobble, a hoodie and ugg boots with his skinnies tucked in – and a pair of headphones blasting rock opera staring to the field on the other side of the road with his hands stuffed into his pockets; a flash of pure demon singed the corner of his eye, turning his head to the slowness of the tempo to the radiating ball of charming toxicity trying on metaphorical slippers to sate his fuming high of vigorous… whatever it was. Nero proffered a sad smile as he pulled the speakers to his neck when the twin approached, completely unfazed by the danger reeling on the edge of the abyss on his furrowed brows. "The air seems fresher today."

Dante nodded, looking to the same image and not seeing any calm in the blistering wind swaying the trees out of their happy places. He knew the code, puffing his cheeks full of air with his shirtless stature inflating with each breath. "Be back in time for dinner. We'll wait for you."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes we do," he said, honouring the only rule in the house he liked. "Go on; enjoy the last bits of sunset." He punched the poofed shoulder, gliding to the kitchen before attempting his second pitfall, grabbing two waters from the fridge. "And don't get into trouble. Dante isn't street smart as he is Sesame Street smart."

That earned a breathy hint of a giggle. "Made funnier by the third person stint." True Vergil stopped mid sip; Nero's solid frame shook with a chuckle as he left for his walk; there was another heartier laugh following him down his bedroom stairs, where a raised eyebrow pointed to its place of origin and sheer disgust at the only route to get there.

Vergil walked into the tepid room and ignored the clear liquid fighting for a chance to get between his toes, handing a cold bottle to the dehydrated twin splashing around like a new-born elephant. "I said I was on standby." Dante thankfully grabbed the beverage, spinning the top and letting it float to wherever it saw fit. He sat at the seat by his brother's head. "Why couldn't you tell him the truth?"

The twins drank in sync. "Because I don't know what the truth is." The real problem now would be to allow that truth to simmer into concentrated oxygen and get accustomed to his newfound vulnerability in front of the tiny hand-held spotlight his kin would be shining at the wonder of such a reveal. It was a huge step he'd grown comfortable with in discreet, and the time for it to be shared in a warm nature gave him the creeps. The good creeps; the creeps of visiting an uncle you haven't seen in years and finding out he's rich; the creeps of going into a haunted house and locating a packet of old but not expired popcorn kernels. All of that silver lining on the other side of a hellish confession that he may or may not get the chance to eventually smell the freshly cut grass that was the aftereffect of Vergil's thinking mechanics gone overdrive. He couldn't tell what went down in the exact spot he sat, praying it was better than their previous heated encounter. "He'll come around, brother; he knows how you feel even if you don't."

Everyone did, and no one bothered telling him. "I'm not going to ask why the floor is wet."

The insurmountable glaze of smug suited Dante fairly well, chugging half the bottle in one go. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, man."

And so rang the alarm bells in his concurrent blanking brain, shifting to another angle of his own face and touching the tender bruising on his skin; the discolouration where the true force of his anger hit was already healing, judging by the smile on display, but one feature stood prominent over the purplish-yellow, intrinsically giving away his notions on the upcoming torment. "Your lips are swollen."

"Yes they are."

Dante chewed on invisible bubblegum as the water from Vergil's bottle was dumped on his head, slowly and carefully seeping into his scalp and onto his face after he'd done so well to not get his hair wet the entire time.

* * *

His favourite park bench was empty considering the confused sun beating down with the feral wind churning healthy leaves from their mother trees, falling miserably with their pliable stems to the ground and crinkling freshly under his boots as he plonked onto the concrete seat, stiffly relaxing on jagged stone that paid him no mind. The headphones were no match for the wind speed, pinning down his head gear with gentle vocals accompanied by a thrashing orchestra and multitudes of static that blocked his thoughts off perfectly, plainly observing the blue and deep orange sky as an open reflection of the thunderstorm he saw coming, influencing his trains of thought from mild gestures of grandeur to insane levels of detachment from reality so deep as not to notice the upper class police uniform level his weight on the bench. Nero's vision and breathing became muddled in attempting to calm his everything, squeezing his laced fingers so hard the tips turned an off-white, seemingly unknowing the affliction and danger of his body operating on autopilot while consequently falling deeper into a bottomless hole with taunting handholds and no grip, glowing in slippery glory and growing plentiful the deeper he fell and making the conscious choice to keep falling in weightlessness without a care in the world, his imagined mind as vacant as the space around him highly reminiscent of the situation induced by Vergil's trusted battled companion but far more depressive in shrouding darkness opposed to the knowledge of oncoming clusters of sadness with a certain route back to living, breathing reality. A gentle hand tapped his shoulder waking him from his spiral back into the obscurity he had only ever transgressed once before, blowing hot air in a deep exhale with mist fogging his teary gaze for the second it took for a small warm squeeze to reach his stout frame, looking to his lap in defeat and slumping forward in disappointment. "Jerky?" It was such an odd to hit the wall of his conscience, flying over his head and straight into the bushes that surrounded the park. "Would you like some jerky, sir?"

The officialness shocked his spine scared, straightening for the uniform to properly offer the snack. "I'm good, thank you officer."

"It'll help with the overthinking."

That sad smile was back. "Is it that obvious?"

The detective shook the bag for him to take his portion quickly. "It's my job to pick those things out. Now, eat up; I only have so much time to cheer you up and get you home safely."

The throb in his head batted its eyelids in Morse code, ignoring the nag at his brain to look up owing to the cold bite on his eyelids. "What's the time limit?"

The officer tweaked his neck to the setting star, picking on the slight nuance of panic at the mention of the inimical concept and wasting the moments of clarity he came for, now more hopeful with company. "When the sun goes down." His voice was husky and reassuringly familiar, melting the iced barrier of status with a dried out meaty shove of chilli into a limp grasp, meekly accepting the snack; Nero took a hefty piece from the bottom of the brown bag and chewed noisily, tasting nothing but the satisfaction of giving his mind something else to focus on other than obsessing over the numerous things beyond his control owing to the stubborn factors in both instances: the first – himself – stupidly thinking he should tolerate and influence to the devastating flood washing through his entirety; the second – Vergil – resolute in every way other than the answers he sought, wishing for definitive comprehension on the decision of formally misusing his feelings or the beginning of something on the deepest end of the prospect pool that would rival his ultimate goal. Telling the truth only got you so far if you were staring at a blank, unyielding wall keeping him from moving forward in sound mind and body without the burden of ingenuous necessity. Crinkling plastic was pulled back in hungry retaliation of the bite of the century, seeing the outline of the strongest jawline make mincemeat of a sandwich half the size of his face. The sun hid most of the action, but living with two hybrids who ate triple their body weight three times a day, he knew a bite when he heard one, crunching under two… perfect… sets of teeth… wait… "You wanna talk about it?"

By habit, he took guesses of the ingredients used to make it, building the foodstuff in his head until a familiar picture formed. No, it couldn't be. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's not worth your time, officer." The boy felt the melancholy crumby smile on his left shoulder. "I'm looking for things I know aren't there, BUT I get upset when I can't find them. That's it."

"And a tiny fairy just flew by and told me there's something else in those fresh cobwebs upstairs." Confiding in the stranger was easier than the two people he had a connection to. "From experience, it's never one thing. It's a mix of similar things that mingle and become one to double the effects or consequences of what you're feeling, or you're attaching the wrong emotion to the wrong thing making you think you feel the same for both, later realising your mistake and you get confused all over again because you wanted to rush working through it properly and the shortcut comes back to bite you." He took a smaller bite this time, folding the plastic over and shoving it into what sounded like a backpack next to him. "Men do that sometimes, and I'm going on a whim to say one of those forces involves a man or woman messing with that muscle behind your sternum."

Nero snickered, nearly choking while swallowing his fourth piece of jerky ignoring his manners and logic to extend the curtesy to look the detective right in the face. "That's the one."

He groaned, finally making progress. "Then I'm out. I've been in love too long to offer any advice for you youngens."

He toyed with another spicy piece and returned it back to the bag, suddenly feeling nauseous at having a conversation about the subject matter that wasn't in his head with the rest of his instincts. "Anything is appreciated."

The detective hated the look on Nero's face, but the ethereal glow on his melanin changed the atmosphere entirely, maintaining attention away from any part that seemed to internally burst into tears. "So it's a 'dear Cupid, hit us both next time' kinda deal, huh?"

He watched Nero nod slowly and drop his gaze to his favourite tuft of grass at his feet. "Cupid got both of us, but the idiot hides the arrow as evidence."

The uniform lounged on his half of the bench, breathing in the smell of the earlier downpour. "What do you want to hear, son? Would you like me tell you it's as easy as a yes or no, that you can throw away the time and effort you've invested simply because he can't man up and tell you what you want to know? Do you want the easy way of finally knowing what's going on in that head of his, stagnant and happy to hear him say what you've been waiting for but to what end? Things like these are far from easy, but that isn't an excuse to give up. I'm not saying persistence is key, but if you both know what he's feeling, what exactly is it that's keeping him from admitting it?" His way with words wouldn't give away they were tailored for Vergil. "In the end, we all want someone who chooses us. Over everyone else, under any circumstance. You have chosen each other, end of story. It really doesn't matter whether or not you have his permission to say you are his or he is yours, it's there; if people can see it without you saying a word, isn't that a precious feeling in itself?" Nero didn't catch him stare into the distance, smiling in the direction of his favoured devil-hunting establishment. "Someone once told me that everything you want is on the other side of fear; it comes in different shapes and sizes, but the most prominent one is the figure that stares back when looking in a mirror. That only recently made sense to me, and I'm ancient." That someone was Dante. "You lose nothing but the chances you don't take." He knew the older twin too well to lie to the boy, and as his brother had already pointed out, Vergil was the most patient thing on three legs; the detail lied in Nero's fragile hands, having already tossed the coin and making the mistake of waiting for the one aspect that would push his chosen side to the top. But what was he actually waiting for? As his overthinking topped a new high, the man in uniform flicked him against his forehead and poked him in the neck, two series of pain that should keep him occupied in the minute or so he would be gone. "And there's more to my speech, but there's one thing stronger than the sound of love – the siren of an ice cream truck. You can forget everything I just said if you remember this one fact of life." He rushed to the middle of the road and Nero wobbled slightly at the loss of counterweight, bringing his eyes to the other half of the bench that wracked his brain. He needed one more dot that stared him in the face – or rather his nose – to connect the peculiar instance of surprising convenience he had found himself in; the cogs moved, but to what end? The answer was at the tip of his tongue, somehow finding himself leaning into the scent he left as his new acquaintance balanced two double caramel fudge bombs – a fancy name for a vanilla ice cream in a waffle cone dipped in caramel and lodged cubes of fudge spread across its height – and handed one over. Nero gaped in wonder at the rumours he'd heard of the beast before him, never having bought one forsaking the pride of his stomach for quantity over quality. The eight inches of ice cream successfully diffused his argument, fizzing away with the luxurious memory replacing it. "I hope it's okay I bought a double; force of habit. Yes, as I was saying-" they both took a huge bite off the top, both sighing in tandem, tilting their heads in sugary euphoria, "-there's nothing wrong with being selfish with what you want. The feeling isn't going to go away, sir; grab him by his horns until he's tired of denying it, because when he does, everything gets easier, and when he realises that, he'll kick himself in the shin for holding back. Secretly, of course – he can't let you now he hates himself for it."

He'd secretly love that too. "Nero," he said, breaking off pieces of the hardened caramel after scooping out its innards with his tongue.

He turned to face the boy. "That's your name?"

"That's what people call me." The sun had set behind a massive three-story like his own, the colourful sky preparing the darkened blankets to start their shift on the other side of the planet. Nero turned his head to the last spot he saw the peeking sun and its crazy breeze that too died down significantly, leaving nothing but a cool walk to his home under the stars too eager to start their blinking glory. The form in black sat snuggly in the corner of his eye contently minding his own business while digging his gorgeous face in the candied monstrosity, moving his mane of pitch black to his other shoulder to undo the knotty damage done by the wind. "Thanks very much for this, officer."

He nodded cutely. "I can't enjoy sugar by myself. So lonely."

Where had he heard that before? "My dad says the same thing. He doesn't say it, he lives it, but I'm sure he's thinking exactly that."

The detective cleared his throat, taking another bite to ease the burning lump that had grown out of nowhere. "Your dad must be an amazing man."

The boy blushed, taking the worst moment to look directly at him. "Amazing doesn't cut it when it comes to him."

He brimmed with heart-breaking pride at the spoken words, noting the sky in a deep shade of blue and the hooligans that came along with it. "Do you need me to escort you home? Not you, but the ice cream."

And that split second of his beaming smile pulled Nero in, mentally slapping himself back to reality after being sucked deep into those piercing green eyes. A feeling of sorts bubbled with the dairy and burnt glucose, freezing into a solid shape and shooting up his spine to the base of his neck and dissolving with the liquid surrounding his lively grey matter seeping into every available crevice to be deciphered. He couldn't help but melt like butter under the bigger man's scrutiny, trailing every god-like angle of his features for a clue of any kind. "I… I don't live too far from here. I'll… manage."

They stared one another down like their lives depended on it with the detective breaking it to uphold his position as protector of the city. He would do it all night until the boy remembered, but that went against his promise to the twins; on the other hand he may have already shot himself in the foot, given the changing blank stare on the opposite end of the bench. Handsome, it was; his inner demon purring with possibility. "Go well, Nero. You have my number if you need me." The detective stood much to Nero's dislike, licking his treat as he walked to a predetermined direction raking through his hair that flowed down his broad back, sparing enough time for Nero to do a double take at the familiarity of the scene; his eyes bulged in vague recognition just as a drop of ice cream dripped into his grip and he followed the knee-jerk reaction, looking down quickly and back to an empty park with no trace of his new friend whatsoever. Had he made a mistake? Did he ignore a key element on account of his conceit? Was he too, as Hanson phrased it, from his past l-

HANSON! THOSE EYES BELONGED TO HANSON!

He swivelled his view back to where the detective was last seen.

He didn't give him his name.

He didn't need to.

Their eyes met once more as Lars stared back under the ploy of invisibility, standing dead still until his best friend made the move for home, unable to say a word as tears formed in his eyes at the missed opportunity to reconcile the fragments of his memory, two lonely streaks forming a single droplet on his chin. Lars stepped forward and stopped, freezing again in his icy blues that pleaded for another sound – anything – to see him again.

When nothing came, two more followed; he walked with his head low to the main street connecting his home, eating his cone.

Lars had never been more ashamed in his entire life; he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and began texting immediately.

* * *

The brothers were shuffling in the kitchen in their short pyjamas for the tinge of warm in the air – there was none – getting things ready for dinner and drinking their sixth neat serving of bourbon rocking to their own rhythm while trying to balance cutlery and resting steaks in an expertly sober repertoire. True Dante put the finishing touches on the components, stirring the bubbling sauce to keep it from coagulating. He switched the heat off and looked to his sibling, sipping on the brown burn while mentally fighting the direction in which his brother placed the two sets of knives, laughing at the picture of a madman frustrated at metallic inanimate objects lying in shiny humility – what else could they do – unable to fight back. The elder took a deep sip and spilt a drop along his bottom lip, instinctively running his tongue on the wetness and biting it in its entirety while strolling to the kitchen for a refill, taking the last few drops of his brother's glass for the same ride. "Would you relax, brother? It's just a text. He can look after himself."

"I know, and I'm not worried." He leaned on the counter facing the rack of exotic spirits they seldom drowned in but fitting for the evening ahead; the message from Lars sent them in a superfluous tizzy of sorts, putting their senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary on their demonic radar. But in the meantime, all they could do was wait and numb the worry that came with seven measly words. _LET ME KNOW IF HE GETS HOME_. If, not when. The meaning changed with one word; certainty altered to possibility, and neither twin enjoyed the grey area between a yes and a no. Vergil was surprisingly calm in his trust of Nero, or he hid his anxiety brilliantly. "I'm hungry, that's all."

The pouring twin replaced the cap on the now empty bottle and crossed the space to the bigger refuse bin, walking back to the shelf after dropping it to the bottom of the rubber container. "You're hungry when you're nervous."

"That's not an argument; I'm hungry all the time."

Dante's body stretched to the highest shelf and pulled out the prettiest bottle. "Fine; you drink when you're antsy."

"I drink so you don't seem like an alcoholic."

Vergil set the bottle down without negating the falsehood on account of his broody stance over his tumbler. "Remind me of the last time you heard a great story starting with someone eating a salad."

"Says the only person who eats salad in this house." It sounded better in his head, falling flat onto the tiled kitchen floor as he took the new bottle and unscrewed the tight cap, breaking the seal with the littlest of effort and drank straight from it, going smooth as silk down his velvet throat and chunky Adam's apple bobbing with the heavenly motions of consumption. The glass neck returned to sight pulling a happy face compared to the grimace and coughs behind it, wiping his mouth for any excess with the back of his hand and sticking his tongue out for the rest of the burn to be cooled by a chill nowhere to be found. "This is really good."

Of course it was; it set Vergil back a little over two thousand dollars. He attempted a sly smile, turning sexy watching the bottle levitate its contents into his body. He effortlessly made Dante irresistible with the tiniest of quirks, his intense blues glaring at the hilarious audacity pulled by the contrast of the body he inhabited. "You're horrible."

He grabbed the mini investment from the shaking hands. "I've been telling you that for years."

The elder twin poured them each a copious glass, closing the cap tightly well in view of the younger, daring him to touch the drink without consent with a glare that could make sheep crap silk. Saved by three knocks at the door, Dante went for his quota and retreated to the corner, hiding a loose grin behind two-handed grip. "That's him," said true Vergil, instantly vigilant at the curt, quiet knocking on his own door. The risk of stumbling into Vergil casually biding his time in the lounge by barging in was too great, so the timed raps to the oak could mean two things: he was either in trouble or wanted the preferred definite of Dante opening the door and his brother's attention in a book or magazine for a few second window before he lifted in incommodious curiosity. The latter seemed more fitting, taking a quick savouring swig of the eighty percent impression on his already thumped awareness as he left the kitchen. "Try and be civil."

Two eyebrows shot up in its six foot four glory. "I'm always civil-"

"I'm talking to me. Inside you."

He could smell the lip bite next to the blue cheese. "After dinner, Vergil. Maybe when Nero falls asleep."

Was he expecting another reply? "If you think Nero will let you out of his sight, you're drunk." Dante's body crossed the room quickly and went for the handle, looking over his shoulder at the muscled back squirming at the obscene strength of the noble liquid. The elder opened it slightly, obeying his hunch of not wanting to face Vergil just yet. It really was a pity. His face peeked through the gap as Nero faced the open field glowing by full moonlight and amplified by the afternoon drops of rain clinging for dear life on the crisp blades of grass. "Hey-" he followed protocol getting his attention, and he wished he didn't; the boy had been crying, that much was certain, showing only half of his face to the twin as he turned and beckoned him to a cold spot on the porch to his left as if cracking a stubborn bone in his neck. He closed the door and his bare feet took him next to Nero's side, abiding pure reflex with a comforting hand on his lower back. "What's going on?"

His demon purred in anticipation of danger around both corners with a peculiar glaze over his intense blues; he had the worst feeling overcome his sensual calm, chilling his spine to the bone as he noted every inch of the boy's face littered in grief with an eerie draft as the perfect backdrop for trouble – the twin's famous cerulean went dead as a doornail, running down the steps and searching down the deserted road for sharp headlights, deafening exhausts, a mob carrying lead piping laced with tetanus, anything to clarify the explanation he wasn't planning on asking for. The hairs on the back of Nero's neck stood straight up as Dante readied for the kill at every angle, flexing his fingers behind him for the familiar blue dust sparkling out of thin air. "It isn't like that-"

"Then tell me in plain English why you look as though your world just plummeted into dead space and the colour in your face just decided to fuck off."

His voice was husky, deep, dark, two-toned whisper soaked in dauntingly irresistible power and looking ahead at the pleasantries of the clear night's sky while a soft hand encircled his arm. "Something happened in the park-"

"WHAT?" True Vergil's sternness shook them both, echoing down both ends of the street; a quick glance to his arm at the melancholy replacing the sparkling, lively, fierceness that he was used to seeing capped the blast at its peak, pulling his usual sternness unlike his brother in every way. Nero avoided the gaze altogether, clamping onto the twin's arm to calm them both. "Forgive me – what happened in the park?"

Dante's observant brutality didn't die down, turning his head in the opposite direction for any unsavouries lurking owing to his mistaken riled scent. "I think I may have met someone."

He stayed silent for a few ticks, waiting for the punchline. "I need a bit more than that, champ-"

"From those memories." The 'those' made them seem so detached, so foreign, as if they weren't his own but merely sucked through his fingertips and vague recollections that were similar to his actual childhood, the dissociation an unexplored coping mechanism fitting into the category of last resorts for the younger man who up to this point was the strongest person the twins knew. He wasn't at his worst – not even close – but this was the closest he'd be to that moment, feigning indifference for the seesawing time bomb that would surely never explode in front of him unless called upon to do so. He squeezed his pillar of strength wanting his attention, locking intense with serene azure, unable to pull away from the half-hearted smile that disappeared the more the memories clicked into place. "The police officer. He got a helluva promotion."

It was such an understatement it was almost hilarious. "He's a detective."

The assumption of stress didn't fit the bulked, toned frame of the stranger. Could he call him a stranger? "I think it was him." Nero cleverly steered Dante back to their front door under the safety of the porch and not in the big wide open where a solitary tree was a target. "Something with an L… and that's a face you don't forget. The irony."

Dante took his arm back, calmer that there was no apparent danger and equally bleh at the point of Nero being able to take care of himself. 'What the hell was that', he asked himself, overcome by logic and reality of his unnecessary actions, and how silly of him to hope the boy didn't notice. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. I didn't even look at him."

The willpower was strong on this one; he wasn't attracted to the man but he'd gotten a few double takes out of the older hybrid simply because. "You feel bad for not looking at him?"

"And not recognising him sooner, not asking any questions, not telling him the things I wanted to say that only came to mind on the way home, not spending more time with him or making the effort to have a proper conversation, not even taking time to get to know him although it would barely scrape the surface of questions I have…" Nero snuck under his sleeve and scratched his forearm, his tell that he was obscenely uncomfortable with having no control over his situation. It sounded familiar. "And I won't see him again."

Like Dante would let that happen. His brother needed only a tiny nudge to spill the beans, especially when it came to Lars. "He's in the force. I'm sure you'll cross paths." True Vergil put his huge hands on either shoulder, rubbing the tensed muscles at his neck; the human moved with the gesture, grabbing both his wrists as a noiseless thanks to making him feel better. Why couldn't he have this with him? Oh right, he was an obdurate jackass who pushed him away in foolish rationality. There was always method to his madness, but if the method was known only to him what was the point in his reticence? "This isn't anything to get upset over, Nero."

"I know that," he said, blushing slightly at asking the next question. "I was hoping you could tell me about him."

Last nail in the coffin. 'You aren't going to tell me, are you,' he screamed in his head; an added tilt to his head softened the air significantly, seeking something small – anything – to not mix up his boundaries and go back to how he was; he hated nothing more than missed opportunities, and because this was his fault he felt obliged by invisible courage to do all he could to make up for it. The pleading smile sunk as he focussed on a blank spot on the floor, watching the past hour flow by in slow motion, counting in his head; he got to five and his mood sank to thirty two degrees Fahrenheit. "Why don't you come inside and have dinner? It's your favourite."

Six. "I don't have much of an appetite." Seven.

"Then you can watch us eat until you're annoyed." Eight… Nine. Dante took half a step forward and blocked his line of sight interrupting the boy's steps back to his dark place. Although void of light, it was comfortable to sit in a corner of your mind with nothing but nothing; a space where disappointment and triumph stood on equal footing and therefore cancelled each other out – the plot holes in his storyline began to form when, every time, he proved himself better, climbing out of the vacuum set to the weakest level and propelled him into a mindset of satisfaction and appreciation for the occasional flecks of abysmal chucked in his face. And such was the case, drifting back and forth conscious he was meant to feel something yet knowing it didn't matter; it was all a matter of opinion and the repercussions was how he chose to deal with them, not dictated by the recognised channels of everyday life. That thought alone shot his evening out the window, smiling to himself that he could daydream on the only worry in his mind for the time being. Its reign in his mind wasn't over, but reminding himself that all of those things led to the things he has now didn't make it seem bad; it was horrible, yes, but it only proved that he had been strong before he knew the meaning or how to pronounce it. The black figure stepped closer, playing with the hair tucked behind his ears and peeping out of his beanie and curling under the woolly auburn headpiece; Vergil wasn't used to this Nero, and the course of action dictated itself when he was too close, encased in the intoxicating scent of contentment he'd solely breathed when they made love – without the inebriating sweat of their corrupted bodies, naturally. The smaller man giggled as he continued to entertain the lonely hairs on his neck, the melodic sound moving his hands to his upper arms. "Please just come inside."

The soft smoothness of his voice hit an inappropriate place. He almost felt bad. "Vergil can't see me like this-"

"He doesn't give a shit." As his brother had said previously, once his mind was made, it would take Haley's Comet to fly through the sky before there was a possibility of him changing it. "But if that's what you want..." The contact ceased, dragging his fingers along the remainder of both limbs and talking with his back to Nero. "Vergil knows him better than I do; when you're ready, why don't you ask him?"

Dante sounded annoyed walking through the door without looking back. Jackpot.

* * *

True Dante waited for the clear of the two figures safely tucked outside before jumping the counter with one hand, spilling none of the liquid who's one-centimetre-radius drop cost more than a single item in his wardrobe to grab his cell on the dining room table; he reread the text from Lars and despised the inborn reflex to type a reply and set his mind at ease when all he did was merit a cheese string of profanity from the depths of Nero's trademark filth. He took a sip to clear his head and placed the Glencairn at his setting on the table, positioning his back to the open window standing behind his seat. He chose to rather sit down before engaging in mental battle with the unarmed – a little chuckle escaping his swollen lips at the scarily sharp wit of his other half – plonking in his proper place and unlocking his phone, greeted by three smiling faces that miraculously changed his entire mood. It was the only portrait in existence to have a heart-wrenching authentic smile on Vergil's face, too proud and in the moment to give Nero the brief lapse in stature, immortalised on Dante's phone screen and the other two devices in their shared home.

'You will give him anything he asks for,' _he remembered saying, walking on the wide open field next to the school hall as the ceremony closed; at the student's exit stood a crowd of female graduates patient to get a photo with their delicious Valedictorian while he looked across the field for the identical faces that had the same flurry of proud moms behind them, sneaking in from every angle at the pair of specialist crime fighters who were well-known recluses apart from their job, the end of the month, and occasions like these._ 'I will pay for your therapy.'

 _Nero caught Vergil's eye and he waved, receiving a salute from both of them in return and simultaneous._ 'I know how to be decent, Dante.'

'I'm not asking you that. You helped raise him. Act like it for once.' _That was true, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the younger had taken the lead at the best and worst of times owing to his stronger sense of humanity than the blunt counterpart._ 'This is a huge moment for him.'

 _Vergil heard the squeals from the women who had mastered the art of the selfie, picking out their favourite as their new profile picture on their social media._ 'I know it is. But you weren't this excited when I got my masters-'

'This is high school, not university. You didn't go to your graduation, so I'm certain you weren't either.' _He punched his brother in the shoulder._ 'And you had three of them; I learned by the second one.'

 _Vergil was only pulling his leg; he loathed the attention and the nonsensical bowing while someone of a higher academic standard hit you over the head with a hat they undoubtedly hadn't washed in years, handing over a rolled-up piece of paper that he wished made sense in his line of work. It came in handy, but only after the boy had graced their doorstep._ 'Don't worry, brother. All I have to do is tell him the easiest part of life is now officially done.'

 _The older hybrid saw the crowd disperse some more and Nero was in his sights, eager to get his last day of high school over and done with._ 'We can't even have champagne to celebrate.'

'You can have all you want; I said I wasn't going to. He asked to watch movies tonight and I don't want to be in a mood.'

 _A bad mood as a result of Dante's choice of variation or a good mood as the normal effect of the liquor? Neither was clear with the deadpan delivery._ 'No thanks; you have the same taste and I like my movies like I like my foreplay – to be seen over the damn blanket.'

 _Good for him – it sounded like it was going to be a serial killer clown movie anyway._ 'Suit yourself.'

 _The long strides on the fresh grass caught their interest as a flailing black gown fluttered in their direction; Nero ran at full speed and crossed the expanse in seconds, the shiny gold medal knocking the wind out of his chest with each step but he didn't care; his youthful smile stretched from ear to ear, becoming more striking the more he closed the gap._ 'Hiiieeeee-' _and the mothers behind them joined in adorable force with a collective 'awwwwwwwwwww' when Dante scooped him in his arms and spun with the momentum of his strong legs, squeezing his frame tightly in case he went flying under strain of underestimation of his strength. He didn't count the embrace as a factor, and the air left over from his dash had left his soul._ 'Where did that come from?'

 _The high pitched voices went quiet after an unintentional half smirk from Vergil._ 'I told you I was going to embarrass you.'

'Would have helped if you didn't look as good.'

 _Dante attacked the achievement around his neck. The principal had introduced him as the youngest Valedictorian in the school's history and obtaining the highest overall aggregate in the school; 99.6% was his average score on his seven picked subjects. Numbers didn't matter, but damn if he'd let that figure disappear from Nero's mind._ 'Fancy.'

'Real,' _he said, knocking the gold against his teeth as the explicit way to tell it was pure,_ 'and my name is engraved over here.' _He gestured to the tiny strips of bronze along the strap around his neck emblazed in the names of his predecessors, pointing to the very last one right above the medal._ 'I have to give this back when we're done with the photos, but I get a mini version. It looks nothing like this one, but my name and year is stitched in the material.'

'Okay then; let's take a good one,' _he said, moving into Nero's left and squishing in to capture the moment; both of them got into a pose and left Vergil to do the picture-taking, handing his phone to his brother to stomach the brunt of his husky moaning regarding better angles and blur to bring out the full effect of the two-dimensional keepsake. Vergil swapped the camera and gave Dante an indecorous expression, a frozen slap to his face thawed through with two beaming smiles mocking him._ 'That means you have to smile, Vergil.'

 _Nero faked surprise_. 'Oh no – is it a blue moon?'

 _Dante licked his index finger and lifted it to the air, measuring the direction of the wind like he was destined for the next shot to be a hole in one._ 'Apocalypse. You're a bit off.'

 _The other two knew he loathed the concept but it was too fun to stop._ 'Please, do carry on. I can be angry all day.'

 _The older twin did his one job for the day, setting himself up for a cute disaster as he wrapped his arm around Nero's lower back._ 'You can't,' _said the human, snuggling into his side and pulling Dante into the portrait orientation; the phone sounded the momentary snap, securing the catalyst for death of humanity into the younger twin's phone memory named by its exact timestamp and upon meticulous approval, the thumb's up brought more relief than he'd imagine. He handed the device over and followed through with unlocking his own, taking one with neither of them prepared but smiling nonetheless, locking it quickly and setting it in his trouser pocket to an unhappy younger sibling who complained to his wits end to delete it, silenced by the same narrowed mien that stopped the female version of Death in her tracks._

He later remembered a bad angle didn't exist and gave up trying to see it until Nero had secretly sent the multimedia text from Vergil's phone a few weeks later. Dante tapped his gallery icon and went to the second photo, zooming in on the single piece of detail that he had previously disregarded as a stroke of luck: Nero's smile – a full toothy grin looking not anywhere close to the lens but at his brother's face doing an unusual yet distinguished trillion-dollar-half-smirk-face-crunch-raised-eyebrow thing rarer than a drowning fish; the boy's eyes sparkled like an entire galaxy woken from a routine slumber, smiling at the unbelievable creature in a playful mood as if he were the core of his universe, the epicentre of the earthquake that would wrack his stable mentality and flip it inside out. That look was genuine passion and fascination, and in that moment his graduation and everything else going on in his mind took a back seat to Vergil's captivating aura.

The split second of chemistry that began the snowball to now, bigger, deadlier, softer, and malevolent as he would expect. It was still too early for Nero to realise it, but this first definitive twinkling of emotion caught on record was the gateway to something dangerous and new, an inexplicable knee-jerk to his true unvoiced feelings for the hybrid that none of them saw coming. Knowing Nero now, he probably sent the message on purpose in the hopes that he'd read between the lines, but all he saw was source material for possible blackmail at the touch of a button – a few taps across a screen, actually – with a repeated action to send it to his mother where the distribution channels feasted like flies on a Sunday roast. Were there earthly pleasures more satisfying than terrorising your older brother?

True Dante chuckled at the plain reality in front of him, clicking from his gallery to his messenger and began texting. _Nero's home. Word it better next time._

Lars was typing. _He's in a state; you can be mad at me later._

The hybrid sniffed the air – all was under control outside, but he didn't need to know that. _Lars Astaroth Nygård, what did you do?_

It took a few seconds before the reply came, retyping his wording a dozen times. _He was on my bench. I didn't know what to do._

 _And I guess Hanson didn't tell you we gave his memories back?_

Dante could hear the fumes that may or may not have escaped his ears. _I think he tried to, but I ran out of that house with half of his sandwich._

 _He's not having a great day to begin with, but we'll handle it..._ He wanted to say more, but the rundown wasn't important. _The last thing you need is stress so don't worry._

Putting his mind at ease was far more difficult than in person, given the state he was in when they left his apartment. His phone dinged in his hand. _Did something happen between him and Vergil?_

So that caught his attention? _Me or actual Vergil?_ That should have woken him up. _Because yes._

Lars was mid reply when his own body sauntered through the front door, leaving the three fading dots to flicker to black setting the blank screen face down on the huge table; the younger twin propped his head on his palm, scratching a nervous itch on his left cheek while watching his twin take the seat next to him. "How is he?"

Vergil sighed deeply. "Count to sixty." It's a miracle he made no joke about his sibling's ability to count to the big number. "Were you texting the great almighty?"

He bowed meekly, sitting against the backrest and raking his hand through his hair, no one more surprised than true Vergil at the copycat action. To top it off, Nero wasn't here to see his utter dedication at deception. "I need more time in this body to handle his mood swings."

The humour was on point too. "You have got to be kidding me; one more smile and I will personally request Lucy to punch me back to old Vergil." He was lying – his arms were stronger than concrete and anyone wanting that for personal reasons was either insane already or would after one round with the purest personification of evil in existence. "No questions, okay? They're gonna burn in your chest, but I urge you to resist the need to be me for a couple of hours."

True Dante smirked, planted his palms on the table and stood, walking and leaning against the closest part of the counter that spanned the perimeter of the kitchen. "I wanna eat. I'll be too busy stuffing your face to think properl-"

"Why will you be stuffing his face? Is that a twin thing?"

Nero did a bad job trying to sneak in with four precious blue eyes glued to his face before he stepped through the door, turning around to bolt the door while four circles burned through the double layers that wind couldn't get through. Dante took the lead and stood from his chair too, pulling a caring smile his brother didn't know he learned to do. "Hungry?"

The boy nodded coyly, knowing they were waiting for him. "A little."

The ice cream did nothing to his appetite. "I'll be right back," said Dante, walking with humungous strides to the pantry and boxing himself in with non-perishables and other shelved foodstuffs. The younger caught the hint but acted too late, watching Nero take short steps to stand next to him and plonk his arms on the marble countertop, keeping his line of sight forward while the boy indulged in the impeccable view that was his jawline.

"Don't look at me like that."

He was a good piece of meat as far as references went, and the plea flew over his head. He was the only one allowed to look at him as his mouth continued to water, needing to speak to drag his mind out of that specific corner of his brain. "You're not gonna ask anything?"

"Is there something in particular you want to say?" Vergil took one of the hands on the counter into his own, tenderly rubbing the back of his hand and knuckles with his thumb. The boy shook his head limply, enthralled by the contact from the twin. "Then I will wait until there is." He seemed to swoon the limb allured by the tug he felt toward the person attached to it, kissing the soft skin under his careful touch and relishing the light dusting of prickle up his wrist. The hybrid's form softened to an nth degree, looking deep into Nero's eyes and reading the same lines on the same page, straightening his posture in support for the smaller man to lie over his frame and stand on his tiptoes, hot breaths ghosting Vergil's succulent lips as he bent his forehead on the other. Cupping his face with a hair's width separating them, the twin dipped lower in a sweet lingering kiss, controlling its effects to remain on the surface of their embrace so as to not get out of hand while Dante was so close by; their cerulean orbs glazed over in sugary lust, pulling apart in a flurry of hurried noisy smooches that felt too good to let the chance pass, keening in the back of their throats at how impossibly fast their circumstance escalated. The clanks within the pantry became louder and slower, and they guessed he was closer to what he was looking for; the twin looked back in telepathic appeal, moving from the human's face to his waist and crushing his breakable frame in anxiety for more, even a sliver of the intoxicating taste of his tongue as reprieve for his past blameless faults. Vergil held one arm tight at his waist while his other dug into his scalp, moving the silver strands behind his ear for more surface area to devour and gripping a cluster at his crown to commit the fulfilling sin, plunging tongue first into the younger man's mouth. The banging declaration of Dante's reappearance allowed for a few seconds to peel away in shaky breath, calming them to their normal operating level on household standard. The elder twin walked around the kitchen and set the array on condiments in the middle of the table, collecting the plates on their spots to dish up the first portion of dinner.

"Oh shit, the tabasco." The stacked plates at the edge took second priority as Dante ran back – quicker this time – with a small red bottle and a green top hidden in his monstrous grasp. "D-Catch!"

His timing was off; already airborne, the bottle floated to his hand in a perfect arch but the signal in his brain was a millisecond off course, deciding to swap hands for a better chance at catching the darn thing. By the time he could implement his genius, Nero dangled the red spiciness in front of him before setting it next to the wire prison holding the rest. Dante did a slow clap walking to the plates, hitting his hands in rhythm with his footsteps; a hearty giggle chased his solo performance, carefully grabbing the tower in a weak grip owing to his laughter. Vergil shot glowing blue daggers at his brother, mastering the narrowed gaze and squared jaw that froze the hearts of many. "Warn someone before you do that."

Nero licked the vinegary texture from his fingers, its signature burn hitting his tonsils simultaneously. "He did." He licked his thumb one heartbeat too long, teasing Vergil with the tip of his tongue tasting the bland digit on purpose; he floated to and took his seat, shuffling closer to the table while the younger twin found strength from his laughing fit to carry the dishes to the kitchen. The younger's judging eyes switched between the two, utterly incredulous and muddled at what just happened; the other two grasped the concept swiftly, twisting their faces to hold back a ticket to the express lane of hurt under Vergil's diabolically lethal expertise, staying true to avoid his gaze at all costs to keep from turning to stone and pulverised by a single snap of his fingers.

* * *

Their shared apartment was quiet when Lars stepped in, apart from the heavily muffled slashes and whips coming from Hanson's surround sound speaker system; button and trigger mashing and disgruntled moans hid behind a deep charcoal door and three layers of soundproofing foam kept the seizure-inducing blinking lights within its wanted confines. The incubus had no energy for a scuffle after what he'd left behind, filling in his official transfer back to his original precinct with heavy set shoulders and an upturned stomach, not having eaten anything decent in over seventy two hours and being too prideful to accept the quick fruit salad Hanson had made for him, stealing the sandwich from earlier and taking flight from the balcony while his brother grabbed a blanket from the spare room, throwing it over the plastic bowl for his dough to rise. He caught a glimpse of the big bullet-proof feathers and the laces of his combat boots in his take-off, striding to tidy the pot plants that always fell over when he ran with his tail between his legs; the shrinking form disappeared behind a bunch of clouds, patient for the last tip of the black veil to flip him off from afar.

His face clouded in guilt at the social dragonfly shutting himself out to everything but his myriad of consoles and the salty smell accompanying his multitude of losses in his single campaign playthrough. Lars looked deeper into the room, erasing the concrete walls and the thick oak door to an assortment of ramen flavour cups stacked on his nightstand – the dirty OCD bugger he was – and a party size of original Pringles sitting contently next to the handsome consumer worshipping every moment until he was stripped of its purpose, joining the noodled mountain to swap stories of their time spent with the demon, grateful for the higher vantage to watch the brooding mess froth at the mouth from uncertainty and recklessness, tunnelling his focus to the solitary cup making his rounds through the six available forests on offer. Hanson showed no interest in the game but carried on, his defeated aura looping through failure after failure until the right-pointing red arrow teased his ineptitude and endurance, glancing toward his wall clock too often and getting a treasured hit to his ceramic body. It was a good challenge to occupy his overactive brain in the two-hour delay of Lars coming home and eventually giving up, coldly turning off his electronic selection and getting into bed fully clothed ready to jump out and seem fine when Lars came home. His head hit the pillow and he shot up instantly, unknowingly locking the piercing green connection as he got out of bed and sneaked to his bedroom door with his back to the inside wall.

The man below made enough noise to sound his arrival home; noisily throwing his house keys in the bowl on the chest next to the flat screen; sighing as he took off his shoes, faking a struggle with the zipper; hanging his heavy black coat and gun holster on the coat rack; grunting out of his safety vest and accidentally plopping it on the floor, heaving to retrieve the dense piece of clothing. He took off his socks for added effect, dropping his shoulders to seem weighty on his feet looking like a huge toddler ready to throw a temper tantrum on his way to the kitchen. As was his ritual, Lars went for a fresh beer after regaining the feeling in his toes; midway to opening the waiting gush of cold, the upper and lower-case letter magnets were assembled in a message for him, utilising his creative skills in the most colourful way possible. It read:

I mAdE 4; u'1l Kn0w whCH !s yRS.

I made four. You'll know which is yours.

Oh, he couldn't wait; whenever Hanson chose to make individual servings, one was different each time – the shape, size, flags sticking out at the top, covered in a thin layer of his least favourite vegetable before getting to the slimy calories – that was undeniably his, reminiscent of a focal point during the day and putting him in a good mood to better digest his dinner, and the trick had yet to fail. Lars opened the refrigerator and at the very top sat four deep clay dishes in mahogany brown with a square of lunch wrap covering each, one very neatly tucked underneath the dish that he guessed was his; he plucked it from the shelf and set it on the island, reading a scribbled note sitting comfortably over the wrap: 'one eighty, ten minutes. You know what happened last time when you didn't listen to me.' If it weren't blatantly obvious it was his, the top crust was layered in grated Gouda and white cheddar with the word DICK written in chopped scallions on top of the cheese. The joke was on Hanson; scallions were his favourite.

Upstairs, Hanson waited for the smell of cherry cola; the sweet tautness mixed with the air when Lars was in a good mood, and his cooking never fell short in slicing his face in half at the worst of days. He heard the switch and timer of the oven, more discreet than his performance over the threshold, and he sleepily went to bed minus the foreboding streak of another night in an empty home. The younger would take clicks and clanks all night; its meaning surpassed the annoyance of waking at two the morning to the sounds of oversized cutlery digging into frozen yoghurt that he'd forget to replace, and they were galaxies apart in comparison. Hanson smiled, stripping to his underwear and climbing into his luxurious four-poster, beckoning the Primordial Morpheus to jiggle his magical bits over his eyes and bring him good rest now that his immediate world was restored-

-until he was forced to wake an hour into blending bloody Marys by a presence sharing his space, standing shy against the door and watching the serene sight next to his mess of convenience foods; Lars was still in his shirt, tie and slacks, moving to his preferred side of the bed and sat down slowly to not obstruct the motion of his brother's sleep. He kept his back to him, slouching into his propped elbows and setting up an invisible wall around his vulnerability. "I see you found yours."

Hanson took the bait, changing his position in favour of Lars' propinquity. "I did."

"You stole my sandwich."

"I did," he said, looking over his left shoulder to see how close he'd shifted. "I bought jerky to make up for it, but I gave it to someone else."

You think prick, you say tut. At all times. "I hope this someone wasn't a random. I'm a pregnant woman giving birth to a werewolf when it comes to jerky."

"You consider Nero a random?" Lars took a deep breath and turned ninety degrees, facing his brother head on; the sleepy look in return was confused jealousy in understanding, unable to compute what the meet did to Lars. Hanson took his hand and laced their fingers with a reassuring thumb grazing where it could, the other hand rubbing up his exposed left forearm. The unique reunion destined to occur became a case of wrong place wrong time, voluntarily undertaken with no intermediaries that would have consequently eased the young man into their lifelong friendship in a gentler manner than the startling electric shock he saw flicker in his intense blues, hitting him like a truck in mid-air with no chance to safely land on the ground to gather himself and be the curious little shit he was remembered as being; he wasn't comfortable without Dante there so he made a run for it like the logical coward he was, mentally shaming the prayer he'd made for Nero saying no to the escort home. "I went to the park when I left the office. Turns out he still visits there."

His brother cuddled closer. "They gave his memories b-" That was it, wasn't it? "Did he… did he recognise you?"

Lars massaged his hand in return, a humble smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I think he did, but it's complicated to explain." He would claim to be ready to hear it all but a single finger over his lips killed his plea, his muted gaze clasping authority in his decision. "Tomorrow; you need your rest."

He leaned forward to get off the bed, but was held back for one last thought. "I'm thinking now's the time to get rid of that case in your closet."

It slipped his mind. "Do you think he's ready?"

"Even if he isn't, those two will make sure he is." Hanson let go, biting the back of his brother's hand. "Let me give it a clean, though. You can drop it off tomorrow when you visit them."

Lars nodded at his efficiency and equally hated him for it, but he was right; it was past it's due and may be a push for the twins to hasten their decision of when they'd allow him to work with them. The 'if' must have certainly turned into a 'when' at the point where Nero's determination knew no limits and continued to push himself for their approval. Vergil has stated previously that they'd consider it once he had finished high school and took him on a few rides outside of his schedule to watch them in action and get him addicted to the reward and satisfaction of keeping the world free from the ungodly masses. It was a decent step forward, but two things stood in his way: his uncanny laziness and its weight. Had he any idea how heavy the thing was? "Thank you for dinner." He went back to the bed and inclined on one knee, placing a kind peck on Hanson's tired lips. "Goodnight."

The irony – it woke him like a bath bomb in a glass of milk. "Good night."

* * *

Hanson counted to seven thousand two hundred and sixty and got out of bed to check on a supposed image of Lars in complete darkness snoring lightly on his triple-seated couch covered in the softness of his beige fake fur throw and an open book on his chest; instead, the dim lamp shone brightly as he walked past, casting a silhouette of a man he had never seen in the decades they'd known each other. He opened the door further to see Lars hunched over the edge of the couch with his head in his hands, the tiny movements of his massive frame caught by the lamp and its flagrancy in doing what it was supposed to. The crunch of the opening door on his carpet moved his hands into his hair, tugging roughly at clumps of the long black mane to cause mild pain to his psyche, redirecting the vicious cycle of the evening to a more constructive environment to fester and fizz away quickly so he could get on with sleep.

He continued to scratch, deeper, faster, harder, until there was evidence of remorse. The action was a blur to the naked eye but the younger would never be deceived, springing into the room as the smudge turned a sickly black and more blood soaked into the white carpet dripping from the tips of his strands. His brother stood in front of him grabbed the triggered talons, shutting the momentum to a dead stop and detaching the sticky claws from his head, mushing under tissue and bone that he managed to cut through. Lars fought to gouge more brain and skull but knew better, holding his hands in front of him as his head healed at a phenomenal speed owing to his emotional stature at that moment. His body swelled in strain, readied in battle mode to fight his anger that seemingly popped from nowhere; Hanson knew he wasn't close to calming down any time soon, swinging the bloodied demonised limbs around his waist and holding him close to his chest, saving him the discomfiture of his outburst at the sudden loss of his rationality, exploding as a result off too many things to deal with and few ways to do so and resorting to self-infliction as Sparda had taught them. The obvious enough loop would have Lars tear himself to a futile stupor to the same end as his beginning while his pending calm surfaced ever so slowly and he walked away with only a mark of lost time as a direct result. The foreign cold on his back was a good sign, tentatively spreading on his warming skin as his head fell into Hanson's abdomen, staging his pyjamas to look like the middle of a crime scene, but what worried him more were the parts of his head that sustained bleeding incapable of self-repair as a consequence of his untamed nature and the assumed illusion of control over his emotions; he recalled one time previous where his exposed brain caused extraordinary panic in the fiery depths of Hell, later expunged from history books at the subsequent repercussions and Sparda's resolute command.

Lars relaxed at the warmth, allowing everything to run freely without needing to be told, plainly shattered at the appearance he had to keep after having just been rescued from a maniac hell-bent on destroying a revolution he didn't comprehend. In the younger's blind spot, the lamp flickered, dragging his attention to a book hanging halfway off the edge, the corner of one page bent under the hardback crimson cover: The Enigma of Worth. It was his favourite but also his enemy, laden in tales of two souls defying odds not suited to them, hitting enjoyingly close to home and in this case too close, hovering like Icarus and his invention forestalling the moment of their mutual crumble into dust with nothing but words in a book to show for it. "It's okay," he said, feeling the claws dig painfully into his back and nagging one feather of his wings, squeezing tightly to manipulate a recovery over his stubborn emotion. "Everything's gonna be okay."

And for the first time in centuries after countless times of saying it, Lars couldn't believe him.


	9. The last piece

Dante sat quietly at his desk scribbling notes on a blank A4 page, rambling on in the motions of his exquisite cursive and random doodles to placate volatility in the bright moonlight shining behind him, another lonely lamp in a different corner casting an eerie glow in the already darkened room; his brother's cell phone had been blinking a bright green light since dinner and he solemnly ignored it, thinking the message would later be read by its intended recipient. Instead, true Vergil woke the keypad and drew the unlock pattern across the screen and tapped at the small yellow envelope in the bottom right, the speech bubble spreading on the interface and Lars' indecent jawline popping in the top left with his current status – online – and three unread texts separated by a bigger space to be easily distinguished by the reader.

 _Oh.  
I guess that would make sense.  
That must be confusing._

He was typing again. _How is he?_

He was unaware he was talking to the incorrect brother. _Just fine. Calmed down. Almost in bed._

 _That's good._ The twin could judge the relief on the other end. _Hanson didn't take it too well. That they were together._

Oh really? That was miles from the impression he'd given when they left their place hours ago. _Why?_

 _He was crushing on Vergil, remember? I told you a while back._ He couldn't have. _No, I didn't._ Another three dots blinked in shades of grey. _Shit._

 _I won't say anything. He probably knew._

It all began at the witness stand, and although Vergil emanated virtue, the phase of patience that lasted shy of a century died down to a grain of sand in his desert of priority when Nero had taken his first steps over their threshold. He became less amused with entertaining the hope of their promise while their brothers were being interrogated and more in tune with assisting the situation and its penalties in success. His old future stepped down from its first-place podium to the second, and the new addition to the family stood proudly up top, accepting the notion that they had no choice in the matter, following Hanson's words directly and falling over their feet for his safety and necessitive happiness. Not even Dante knew about the candle he had restlessly placed in the winds of change, hoping to be spotted from a great distance away and acknowledging the secret of their playfully serious banter while Sparda put their siblings through a worse hell than Hell itself. It was all in the past now and promptly forgotten with the new stimuli who, when he came to, knocked on the bedroom door at his usual time every night. The elder locked the phone and set it in the desk drawer as per Dante's instruction, reaching for his black pen to resume his constructive blethering by squiggle and exclamation points. "Come on in, Nero."

His door opened ever so slowly and Nero's face peeped in, looking around the room to locate the twin, his whereabouts and activity before stepping into the space. The boy was being cautious considering the possibilities of every scenario in the book he might have come across when it came to Dante and his privacy, simultaneously giving less than half a fuck about his appearance inside his own home. Dante halted his inked absurdity and glanced at the floating hands and face, complete with hot cocoa and a grin not meant for children under the age of eighteen. "I come in peace."

The twin flicked his head back as a sign of entry, cleaning a corner of the desk for the boy to perch; Nero entered upon signal and left the door slightly ajar, carrying the litre of melted chocolate in his guardian's red cup over to him, setting it carefully next to the moved stack of papers and turning the ear towards Dante's right out of habit and then climbing onto the hardened oak for their chat before going to bed. Vergil wasn't aware of the custom but assumed it was the ideal time for them to have the talk that he had asked for, filling the perfect slot with the sedative effects of the hot beverage. Could this have been the plan all along? "This will be different to what we're used to talking about, but I think it would make more sense to me if I told you." The human toyed with stray pieces of wood while his eyes wandered the surface, catching the sheet of paper the hybrid had been busy with when he came in. "I need your advice."

"Okay," said Dante, taking a soothing sip of the masterpiece he was able to replicate each time. "But know that if you're going to tell me someone is pregnant, I won't be happy and you should run while your head is still on your shoulders."

Nero took the jab as a compliment, smiling and looking at the paper one last time. "No one is pregnant."

"That's great; Rebellion can have a longer sleep." After using Yamato all day, he now worried about Rebellion? "Please carry on."

The twin lounged in the leather office chair, sinking into the fibres and becoming one with the furniture for his comfort at the subject matter that he read clear as day deeply etched in the boy's nervous smirk; the threat of being chopped to pieces eased the mood somewhat, but Nero saw his current condition worse than average of a young adult in need of a word in the right direction. So many setups had panned in his head of how this would go and everything felt wrong in its informality and composure to the nerve-wracking threads weaving through the fabric of his precarious soul, prudent in his words and hardened by his level-headedness at the strings of hesitation clouding the view right in front of him. Dante sipped patiently at his custom crafted drink, a notion and image that normally would have him in stitches at the concept; he wasn't one to be kept waiting and everyone knew that, and when it came to the human the statement proved inescapable. Nevertheless, those curious baby blues pulled the hiding words to the forefront of his thinking, blinking and soft under a pair of long eyelashes. "I'm not asking for your approval. Regardless of whether you accept it, I've thought about this for a long time and I don't care whether you like it or not. Please understand I have no control over this; it's coming from a really dark place and I think that if I don't acknowledge it, it's going to eat me from the inside. I'm probably overreacting because of today in general, and you can hate me for this as I hope you won't-"

"I can never hate any decision you make, Nero. It's your life, and you have the right as a human being to make choices that will benefit you. I won't stand in the way of that." The resonating husk comfortably set him in his place. It wasn't just the drink that gave off a chocolaty smell. "You're an adult. You can think for yourself. I'm here as a guide and only that; a standard, and only that. I'm here to support you and the things you do, not condemn you for taking initiative in your own life."

He hadn't thought of it that way; he'd anticipated a slap to the wrist capable of changing his ways, but this? "Really?"

True Vergil picked on the scepticism, quite calm in his demeanour as his younger twin. "Really. And it saddens me that you didn't know that." A lone middle finger traced the rim of the mug, looking to an empty spot on the desk and focussing on the isolated truth that had no better manner of coming forward. "Now that we know I won't be steamrolling your balls, please tell me what this is about. My cup is almost empty."

Nero took a shaky breath, plucking a sticky note from the small stack in front of him; he knew he was meant to feel anxious, and yet Dante squashed every ounce of reservation under his pinkie finger in paving a path in brimstone for him to speak freely and without judgement like they always did, presenting a warm, cosy space for the boy to vent his qualms and inconvenience in quick succession. The twin may not be a good talker when it came to the emotional stuff but he was an amazing ear, being a strong pillar for him since a young age and knowing what made him tick and how his multifaceted mind worked when dealing with every type of situation presented to him. He came to Dante with the conundrums he couldn't solve, like deciphering a single-coloured Rubik's cube with a lone solution only pure intellect had the ability of cracking. He looked up at the sound of plastic wheels moving around the gigantic furniture and directly in his sights unable to avoid the content turned worried glance from the gentle powerhouse. "Vergil and I are sleeping together."

There it was. Their fighting chance in six words. "Okay."

Let's try that again, seeing as his reaction wasn't at all what a brother's should be. "Not the I'm-having-nightmares-and-I-don't-wanna-be-alone type…" Still, a blank face greeted him. "The naked-under-the-covers-and-doing-things-type."

He heard him the first time. "Okay."

Maybe third time's the charm? "Adult things."

Now he was just messing with the poor boy, wanting the verbal bond at the crux of their discussion. "You're going to have to be more specific, Nero. Vergil and I get naked under the covers and do adult things too."

"Like what?"

"Strip Uno." No one else was supposed to know, but he needed Nero to make his point. "But we get naked after climbing in fully clothed-"

"That's not what I mean." Irritation began setting in; just what Vergil wanted. Nero launched off the corner of the desk and onto the huge bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a coping tactic learned from the younger sibling. Getting him to say it will be fun and tough at the same time, bearing witness to the other resource of his seesawing mood curl itself into a tiny ball of flaming antipathy burning to incongruent ash only to resurrect like the blackened phoenix once the concurrent string of events was sufficiently dealt with.

True Vergil would have nothing to do with any easy way out, crossing his right leg over his left reading his pose in Nero's admittance of his ill behaviour. "Then fucking say it! You do adult things but you can't even say what the adult things are?"

He straightened, forcing polluted breath out of his lungs. "Vergil and I are having sex, Dante."

One more step, relaxing his chin into his left palm propped on his thigh, and it was complete. On purpose maybe? He added a little extra as he progressively became more pleased with himself, biting the nail on his ring finger. "It's just sex?"

"Yeah," said Nero, looking through one of the windows that illuminated half of the room. "Yes it is."

Dante shook his head and pouted. "I'm not convinced." He had to play the suborn card at some point during his time in the body, relaxing into the backrest and tilting his head for a better angle of the boy's anguish. "You're telling me that two entirely complex people have found their way into one another's arms and are simply okay with-" he looked around the room, and Nero readied himself for arbitrary words to be plucked out of thin air and strung together to get his idea across, "-having extra banana in their fruit salad?"

That one made sense at least. "What?"

"Ya know… Sauring the Kraut?" They needed to sound ridiculous to work. "Locking legs and boppin' squiddles? Knowing someone in the biblical sense?" He mentally began a slow clap. "You can't tell me it's just sex. Vergil wouldn't let that slide."

The truth was he did, and he wanted to. He'd gotten so used to providing for the boy that it didn't seem like a big deal at the time. "He accepted it when I asked."

"And nothing's come from it?" And cue the opportunity to mess with his mind, topped off by moving off the comfortable chair and top of his workstation a few inches to the left of where the human had originally sat, fluffing his hair just right for it to hide the intensity of his interrogation. "Oh. You don't know what he's feeling and you're falling for him. Wait wait wait…" A hand stopped Nero in his interruption, dramatically sniffing the air and licking his index finger to guess the final nail in the coffin he could deduce on sight. "He doesn't know that you feel the way you do." And the humour suddenly disappeared, twining the tips of his fingers and putting them between his legs just as his brother did when he occasionally decided to take things seriously. "No, that's not Vergil. Not the one I know."

Dante was frightening when he got serious, and the half of Vergil in control could only elevate the thick atmosphere. "What do you mean?"

"Of course he knows what you're feeling, Nero. If it's been more than a week, he knows."

Nero blushed a light pink. "It's been a year."

He knew that, but he dived in head first with the façade. "You s- A YEAR?"

That earned a chuckle from the young man, the same one after the small mishap before his walk. "I wanted to tell you sooner. But then I thought about telling you and then having him change his mind about the arrangement and there being no point to it out in the open except for complete awkwardness from both sides."

That is a good word. 'Arrangement'; that's what it all was, and then Vergil panicked about one single entity of thought that changed the game they were playing. "When you say arrangement, and let me finish," he stuck his tongue in his cheek, preparing for the real answers he couldn't ask for as himself, "is that how you still feel about it? About him?"

The human smiled. "No. The snowball was falling down that mountain before I asked him. I wanted your approval because I was scared of what I was feeling."

"Why? You just said this talk wasn't about my approval. Are you still scared?" He shook his head in defiance, obviously more sure than he had been a year ago. True Vergil laughed – yes, by his own will – at how differently the boy approached topics of interest to the twins, fully acknowledging he was on the short end of the stick when it came to talking things through and recognising that he was at fault. The perspective distorted too, seeing him like it was the first time he took his steps into the shop as opposed to the decisive chunk of formidable prowess that argued for and with every grain of his being until incessant want muddled his powerful thoughts; he lined his ducks neatly in a row with his what's and what not's, and beyond that a line he'd never cross with either of the two. This was one of those boundaries, and he'd slowly forgotten to care about who it affected, including himself, taking the shape of his second mistake that Vergil wouldn't allow him to grovel over due to his system override of the impossible and going along with the inevitable conclusion they could both feel burning in their heated loins. "You're both adults and can look after yourselves. I just hope you know what you're getting yourselves into."

"I am; I don't know about him." Nero finally shared his delicate tender glare, earning him a heartfelt grin. "You're not mad?"

It split his face further. "Why would I be mad? Do I look mad?" If he were to guess, it looked as if he wanted this to happen. "If this is what you want, who am I to stop it? Not that I will, don't get any ideas." The elder shimmied off the desk and leaned back on it, folding his arms over his broad chest with a look of serenity exclusive to his archive, snapping something inside Nero's brain that abolished his previous misgivings in the time it took him to regain more positive, satisfied thoughts. "Be happy, live your lives. I'm the last thing that should be on your mind when an opportunity like this comes around – love and life, either or, I'm here for every step you take. I made you a promise, Nero, and I intend to keep it."

The twin suddenly turned and ruffled through a random stack of papers looking for nothing in particular, gathering them into their unnecessarily neat pile at another spot on the surface. He had intentionally missed the boy's face soften like butter in a pan, thankful, earnest, surprised at the insight and taken aback by how strongly he was for his happiness. "Dante-"

"Now what part of that was meant to be the bad section that you needed my advice on?"

One more second and a tear would have dropped; Vergil wasn't against human emotion, but Nero crying in happiness or sadness was where he drew his line in the sand where logic dictated him to get used to it while he still can. He never understood the concept; a survival instinct at birth now reformed to illustrate ultimate joy? Give him a break. "I can't be sure that what I'm thinking he feels is textbook-"

"You can be. If you didn't you wouldn't be here."

It was almost comical, the advantage of knowing but not knowing what – like being handed a slice of cake without knowledge of how to eat it. "I can't get him to say them."

"Does that matter when you know what he's gonna say?" Never mind; knowing how to chew when the concept of swallowing evades you. Nero threw the rest of his body flat on the bed groaning as his back sunk into the mattress, raking through the strands of his hair while following the single-lined mural on Dante's ceiling as the conclusion of chaos his mind had endured at one stage, following the lengthy circling doodle was a match made in heaven for a disarrayed consciousness seeking the straight and narrow and the candour encouraged by its monotone uniqueness against the brazen mire of diverse colour splattering in every direction. Deep breaths and keen focus on the black squiggles trailed the shades in order, mingling into one solid hue by the end of the line in the bottom right corner of the twin's room and happily gushing through the end of the flat journey prudently halting the only floundering subconscious in company. "You're wasting time here. Go drag it out of him."

True Vergil found solace in his ability to cut him short, a skill he had honed for the benefit of the entire household. Nero sat up and smiled to himself, making the older twin distrust the inner workings of a stable brain while he chewed on the skin of his cheek. "Lars said the same thing."

The battery on his alarm bells were dying, resembling a drunk fiend gurgling mouthwash of holy water and salt. "You talked to him about this?"

"I asked for advice, that's all. He figured it out on his own," he said, leaving open the gaping hole of what exactly he had figured out. Neither of the pair clicked to the possibility of Hanson spilling the tea prior to their meet, nor the possibility of anyone outside of their immediate household being okay with the developing pact and freely offering advice to its welfare. Vergil was first to not give two fucks about anything anyone had to say, but this wasn't just anyone. This was Lars: a man driven to the point of insanity to prove he is worth everything he has; a man who stops at nothing to get his way for something as small as a packet of butterscotch sweets; a demon so powerful and just in his own right that his beliefs blind him from the bigger picture at stake, taking matters into his own strong, earth-shattering claws and shouldering the blame of a collective decision plainly because he could. Lars was the biggest force to be reckoned with, standing tall in the dreams of the many men who aspired to walk in his footsteps and mirror his persona, striking fear and admiration into the eyes of the most brutal of allies to ever step foot in the fiery pits they called home. Among all of that was the most important title he'd ever engrave on his chest, known to all his confidants at utilising every skill he's perfected in becoming Nero's shield until otherwise pledged to further notice. Additionally, he was one name on a very short list of people Vergil would never dare mess with, and this directly obstructed the shallow streak of luck drawn by an unseen fingertip gone unnoticed by everyone else but him. "Said he'd been in love too long to give anything of worth."

It was true, but with that came things Nero needed to hear. "If you still remember what he said, listen and brand every word into your brain. He knows what he's talking about beyond worldly comprehension of what you think you're going through."

The boy snorted. "He also said the siren of an ice cream truck is the most powerful force in the world."

Dante looked up from the intensity he gave his twiddling thumbs with a downright adorable look of justification for his latest remark. "I never said he was a genius." He nervously scratched his collarbone as they shared a laugh, resting his head on the back of his hand as it died down in solemn silence. The twin noted the slight swing to his feet under at the edge of the bed hiding an incomplete look of content behind a balled fist. "Does it bother you that I don't have a problem with it?"

Nero claimed the softest gaze from him, authentic in straight-laced inquisition and mastered cuteness that made his heart skip two beats in quick succession. "A little. You're accommodating when it comes to me, but this is unorthodox."

"How so? That you're in love with a man who practically raised you?" Well, yes, that exactly; those words implied the case in point. "I won't lie; to someone on the outside it may seem a little inappropriate, but they don't know the circumstances. They don't need to know. What makes you think they'll see anything more than an ordinary couple?"

The finality in his words began a butterfly effect of excited woodland insects to move all at once, flying up Nero's throat in a sprinkle of quick delight and manliness that was an offbeat hiccup that jolted him off the bed, coughing into his hand to veil the miniscule lapse in his tough exterior as he walked to the desk, reaching for the empty mug still smelling like chocolate. "Let me get you a refill."

Was that always an option? "I'm good. But someone else is waiting for theirs," said Vergil, watching him reach for it regardless to take it back to the kitchen and ready the blue mug for its receiving end. Dante hooked into the bend of his elbow making him turn, flustered and ill-equipped at the intimacy and cosy scent emanating from the man. He swore he knew that smell, that distinctive musk of potent cherry blossom extract and vanilla coconut of Vergil's shampoo that pinged his senses and inebriated his nervous system before tucking into the spoils of an aroused demon borderlining his capabilities of patience presently thinning as the days went by. His normal spicy hint of mint was there too, seeping out of the bulging veins in his arms as Dante caressed his skin. "Don't regret this decision. Vergil's is an all-out kinda guy – expect nothing less than one hundred percent from him, and he'll expect the same from you. If you can't give him that, then it's senseless. You're not allowed to regret not giving him your all either, because you'll have me to answer to. Am I clear?"

The authoritative angle wasn't the way to go; when Vergil used that tone, it usually followed one of his items of clothing being ripped from his body. Nero's eyes trailed the limb from his shoulder and to the point of contact, getting a shiver at the attempt of soothing his mind to an even plane. "Yes sir."

"One more thing." He let go; instant regret kicked in. "Let him make you happy. As you now know you've been through Hell and he's been exposed to all of it. Don't let your pride get in the way he chooses to express himself. Go with the flow and don't be a walkover; if he does something you don't like, you tell him without hesitation. Talk to him – always. He's listening whether or not he shows it, and do the same for him. Be his rock, irrespective of his standing; there will be times you need to be strong for both of you. You will both be weak at times, and that's okay. Don't hide things from him, and don't pretend to be something you're not." Dante moved around the boy and went back to his seat, lounging on the comfort of his advantage. "His therapist, his best friend, his everything now lies on your shoulders – can you handle that?"

The prospects excited him. "I want to."

The twin folded a hand over his fist and nodded, leaning to the left and talking directly to the door. "Did you get all of that, Vergil?"

Nero disbelievingly smiled at the attempt on his life, freezing at two light steps coming into the space; he turned to see his favourite face in its usual scowl, remarkably softening when a quick scope of the room brought the human in his sights. He licked his lips and hit him full blast with his unwavering glare, a definite curl to his lip as the human reddened under his devilish analysis. "I did." His eyes remained mercilessly on the boy and Dante's on him, reading one another like hawks as Vergil slowly moved closer to the man holding the empty mug; he stood next to him, close enough for the other pair of prying orbs to not see the soft hand at the small of his back, dipping underneath his t-shirt and smirking at the heat radiating from the cause of a touch he should be used to. "I was getting impatient and wondering what you were up to with my hot chocolate. I heard noises and came to investigate with a proper scolding prepared for my dear brother."

Why had Nero not heard anything? "I didn't do anything."

The scuffling papers came to mind leaving a good enough window to deaden the air of his teleported landing. He should have known, slimy creatures. "You're keeping him here."

"He wanted to talk."

Vergil looked wounded. Wounded? Really? "Is he better at this than I am?"

Was he actually asking that? "Miles," he said, looking to his left and shrugging in a 'we-wouldn't-be-having-this-problem-if-you-were' manner, blinking innocently at its truth; a gut-wrenching feeling still hovered over his insides like a whirlpool of culinary awfuls he'd had over the past year, mixing with his stomach acid to present a new burn of rationed disconcertment and vitality for the new challenge awaiting the lovebirds passed the walls they had fought together to build. Nero was lost to the reality in front of him and true Dante couldn't help but get lost alongside him, seeing every smidgen of sunshine and adoration light his face up like a brothel at Christmas time. "We're still busy, so shoo. I'll be with you in a minute."

True Vergil inwardly bowed to the boy, keeping his ground and denying him his own authority. "Alright." True Dante dipped his head kissed his temple sweetly, voiding the boy's features and restoring his default face of irrelevance for display purposes only – both twins heard the internal grinding of his cogs coming to a screeching halt, quick to realise that, indeed, that just happened. The hand on his back dabbed soft concentric circles at his pleasure centre, making it harder to seem tough in front of the younger's face. "And you-" his voice was deeper, nearly sinister and accusatory to troubling his virtuous state, gesturing to the hybrid responsible for the glitch in his nightly routine, "-you have one minute."

They stared at one another for precisely three and a half seconds with the younger breaking the staredown to concentrate on the man who had grown up far too quickly. "The timer starts when you leave."

"You're going to have to let go of me first, Nero." He hadn't noticed the grip on a belt loop that betrayed his rugged stature in front of Dante, releasing himself immediately five inches to his left for a fruitless exit if there ever was one. The younger disappeared in a puff of nothing out of the room, giving away the chance for a classy tense departure out of the door as the countdown from sixty began when all of him vanished as quick as a sneeze, and nobody more than Dante knew what happened when you exceeded an extended courtesy.

Taking no chances, and after a good chuckle and nearly choking on his own hysteria, the elder stood spine straight and walked to the door, widening the small gap to the great outside where a fate like no other awaited the resolute human. "You have my blessing, not that you need it. Cue the exit music."

He wouldn't let either of them get away with it, so this was probably the safest way to make it through the night; Nero spun on his heel and obeyed the order, but not before clasping the hefty pair of hands into his own with plastered melancholy on his otherwise faultless face, looking up to the twin in more ways than one. "There's one other thing I wanted to talk to you about." He knew what he was referring to, the pressing matter tightly squeezing between their hands. "The papers-"

"We can do that tomorrow morning. We need Vergil present for that conversation; I know my brother better than he knows himself. He wants to be with you tonight and nothing will stop that, including your will to live." Dante stepped forward and leaned onto his left shoulder, delicately ghosting his earlobe with unbridled certainty. "Between you and me, Vergil would never be in something as pathetic as 'just sex', and he probably knows he shot himself in the foot when he agreed to do this."

The boy released their hands, only to wrap his arms around the man's neck. "If this is you trying to make me feel better-"

"Is it working?" In accordance with rightful protocol, the hybrid snaked around his back and waist staying in place. "He's easy to understand when you've spent a couple of centuries with him, and it's from experience that I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt this isn't a one-sided affair. He's full of shit but it's the right shit…" Dante rubbed the length of his back and pushed away just below his ribcage, standing outside the boundary of morality his brother would permit, but he couldn't help himself. He would ask for forgiveness later, dropping the gentle clutch to sit comfortably on his hips and laying a soothing kiss on his forehead and lingering for an unconventional grin against his pale skin. "I'm so proud he's opened up to you. I'm sure he's proud of himself."

The insinuation hit him at full speed, finding consolation in the crook of the hybrid's neck. "Aren't you-"

"I'm proud of you too." The elder was irrefutably out of his comfort zone, playing it by ear as the words magically formed in his head. "The more you prove it easier to do my job, the more it's obvious I'm becoming obsolete." _I understand this is a first for you, but that wasn't a compliment. And if you're done painting yourself as the bad guy, I need my chocolate you MONSTER._ True Vergil took the jab under his belt for later purpose, biting his tongue with a smugness to his eloquent performance thus far hindering a snort at the comment that came through on his brother's wavelength. "But that's reflection for a different time; we don't have the time for that." The youthful baby blues told another story, acknowledging the infallible yet inflexible needs of the jar of blueberry jam on two legs but tipping on the end of the scale that was the nudge of unneeded validation into the opposite way of how the evening was predetermined to go assumed by the horrible day all of them were already having. True Dante had plans of changing that and true Vergil wouldn't stand in the way of his method to reconcile the effects of the past couple of hours. The twin could tell he was comfortable where he stood, not wanting to move in fear of finally getting the emotional ball rolling and stopping it at an awkward angle. "It's gonna come back to me, and I've been there too often to want to be there willingly." He was in a defiant mood, but none so powerful to fall flat against the persuasive smile bordering his heavenly cheekbones. "Over breakfast. I promise."

There was space for one last poke before he left, twirling the silver baby hairs at Dante's neck. "French toast?"

"Don't try your luck, human; you've gotten away with murder already." The elder twin reached behind his head and loosened his finger one by one, letting his hands fall limply to his sides as he stepped out of the exit threshold. For the boy's safety, of course; the last thing he needed was an action Dante couldn't later explain. "Go on, now-"

And no need for it either: Nero thoughtfully burst his bubble and aimed for the right side of his face, angling to the spongy spot under his ear and pursing his lips for a quick peck the taller man didn't see coming, nuzzling into the open weakness he knew belonged to Vergil; he deliberately nibbled the way he liked, breathing hot air on the nagging X he made with his tongue, feeling the prickle of skin on the sensitive nerve end. "Sleep well, Dante," he whispered, turning his eyes to the heated orbs of what should have been surprise and his trademark fuzz – in its place was a rattled, half-eyed mask of utmost pleasure he'd indubitably seen before and become quite used to – holding his petrified stare as he stepped backward out of his room and spun on his heel in time with the first step, jogging down the flight and keeping the momentum well into the kitchen in front of the stove readying the second of its kind with his mind at an unconventional whiz, clocking in at a high speed and breaking his record peak with a thought so drastic and impossible he could believe it, given the grounds of the world he was reared in. An extra skip to his step almost landed him in deep water, nearly forgetting the cocoa powder that graced the cream crown of his version.

Or maybe he'd leave it off altogether…

It was a two sided coin: relief, and the sudden weight that disappeared off his heart, mind, soul, and shoulders, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to be picked at by sensible vultures with an exquisite palate; fury, at himself for needing to do what he did through means of consequence unable to face the whimsical music and bask in what was meant to be joy of the good kind and not the inauthentic reliance of pretend he and his brother had fallen under, missing his chance by the skin of his teeth and equally hating himself for taking the shot like a coward. He despised to be written in history this way and accepted the immortalised black and white too, having revealed only a fraction of true intent to hide any notion provoking his intellect in the right way. True Vergil remained in place, tracing his fingertips over the tiny convenience where he could still feel Nero's lips, a satisfied scowl bringing him back to present day and biting an opportunely-situated pinkie to curb any subconscious urges including the arrogant human who just finished sewing his neutral-coloured death badge on his boy's scout sash. He left the door as it was, walking to the huge desk and dragging his feet by untainted fatigue and overstimulation both meddled in the past hour that flew by. Sitting down in his seat, he tucked into the maladroit luxury that was his brother's resting position, hauling his size elevens gracelessly onto the furniture and promptly realised the advantages of the position he desperately longed to now hate. The twin set his hands in his lap and sunk deeper into the chair, a single niggling blip in the corner of his eye in the form of the mindless scribbled paper he had set to one side as the boy came in; the one he stole glances from; the sole item of discovery that potentially gave the game away. The elder brought it closer and, on initial inspection, saw nothing of interest to anyone, apart one miniscule detail Nero would be sure to pick up on.

Dante didn't write in cursive.

* * *

Nero knocked on Vergil's bedroom door with his free hand, hearing no sounds from within to presuppose movement of any kind from the naturally silent killer. He peeped in with no trace of the blue mongrel on his single-seater couch looking to the floor-to-ceiling sliding door except the open book face down on the matching black square coffee table, a full decanter and three snifters turned upside down in its custom indentation at the centre untouched in favour of the preferred hot chocolate to coax him between his covers and drifting to his personalised version of sleep, watching the ceiling hypnotise the neurons dimming the sparkles of his subconscious to a dying ember much to the futile fight with his lassitude. He set the drink at the edge of the table at hearing quiet fidget in the hybrid's en suite, focussing his attention on the better view of the night's sky and the enthralling sphere of rock glowing at its finest full form, ironically feeling his chest being tugged toward its non-existent gravitational field; the heavy set aluminium squeaked for a millisecond under sliding strain, stepping onto the tiny balcony and gripping the thin railings to support the transitory unease clawing at his shoulders and middle back, opening and constricting his lungs at the same time – like the moon itself whittled at its least favourite crater and dropped its weighty mass to replace the chip for his self-disputation to take hold and manifest, torturing the past hour of illumination into a ball of dust fermenting in the last bright corner of his psyche, awaiting the pokes and prods to show its crammed devastating potential if only it weren't for the commanding, looming presence behind him, ready to shatter his over-discerning foolishness with soft fingertips at the afflicted area, moving in circles and following a distinct path from his neck to his arms all the way to the crook of his elbows. The younger twin put enough distance between their bodies to still be considered close, doing the unthinkable and giving him the space he assumed the human would need alongside the superfluous musing he read without permission. A dull thump at the top of his neck made him sigh, knocking him into the rails for a second it took for his smile to emerge from the wings, trying to picture the look of uselessness on Vergil's face as he bumped between his shoulder blades with his forehead. "What are you doing?"

It looked ridiculous from any distance but suited them just fine, with true Dante vaguely sure of their standing in their manufactured bubble. "I'm not good with this." The false honesty was hard to come by and have total control over, toning down his usual response for something more distant, shallower and painfully obvious to suit his position and adopted persona.

The tension drained from his body under the guise of a deep breath, raking his fingers in the soft strands made softer by the multiplying factor of effort and care regardless of his inexperience. "You're doing fine," said Nero, unable to remember the reason for his initial onset of uncertainty. The twin had no taste of nonchalance or reserve with the boy, and detaching from their bond was an unexpectedly difficult task he didn't know he would have to pull off to save face. The smaller man bent his head replicating the stance of the hybrid behind him, peeling his hands from his arms and moulding it to the railing, closing the tense gap and squashing their inhibitions with it. "I'm embarrassed you had to hear all that."

Ironically, he was supposed to. "You're embarrassed talking about us?"

Nero straightened at the dangerous whisper at his ear, choosing a crumbling honesty that he knew would land him in hotter water than their lukewarm shared plunge a few hours ago. The dread meant little to him as it always has, but the usual punch to the ribcage was heavier than before and the absorption of the unbridled consequence wasn't anything either twin could teach. "Vergil, there are some things in existence that could never make me awkward enough to scratch my beautiful blue eyes out: one, when someone I deeply care about eavesdrops on a conversation where I have to admit that I'm actually afraid that my feelings for him are slightly toxic because I can't get him to declare similar feelings I know he has but won't acknowledge, making me feel like shit, all to his twin brother that gets him to say it without snapping his fingers or calling forth a fairy god parent." Which he was undeniably grateful for nonetheless. "Two, after all that, not being able to convince said victim that it was worth it, breathing the same air and not having the courage to fulfil my duty because I'm so fucking blinded by unimportant things that I fail my one shot at the one thing I don't have control over; the aspect of my life where my assumed genius plays no role and I have to play by the rules that aren't found in any library." He wanted to be as serious as he could, but his vicious truth brought a smile to his face, adding a hint of glee ever present in his detailed account of personal downfall through a spiral on a one-way deadlock, standing at the crag and waiting for the conclusion of safe passage of his partner, bringing him to the same spot on which he daydreamed for months. "As things stand, we're not on the same page; I don't know what you do and I have to play this guessing game which you make sufficiently difficult every day. I hate that you can't say a simple answer to a simple question."

Vergil's grip tightened on the iron making it squeal under his inability to give Nero what he wanted to hear; a first for him, and certainly not the last. His voice, however, betrayed the outward abhorrence with steadfast calm, dripping in his darkened scent akin to auditory burnt caramel. "It's not a simple question-"

"IT IS!" When a question had one of two answers, it was pretty much a giveaway. "I don't seek validation, but it's the decency of not walking away from a yes or no with dignity in knowing it's the best decision toward happiness. If I can't get that from you, where does the possibility of a future lie? Fate's played her cards yet you refuse me until you need me when it's convenient for you. I must wait until you do, and that embarrasses me. The fundamentals are what we're missing, and that embarrasses me." Nero fit his hands to the pair of whitely straining knuckles, feeling the unpleasantries flowing and accumulating to the tips of his digits. "I'm okay with that, and that embarrasses me."

His words weren't meant to sting; he was contradicting refined impulse, speaking his mind on the moonlit floor where opportunity went too few in the case of his demon partner. The aforesaid culprit shut off all connection to the real world and fixated solely on the human and his troubles, resting his lips at the top of his head and breathing in the hallucinogenic wisps of silver his body instantaneously reacted to, falling flat in the smokescreen of stoic poise on autopilot. The slight hitch of his tracks shifting to a new direction made his lungs hitch to drag the trice, tilting his head in obligation as the moment called for it. "Carry on; don't let me distract you," said the younger twin, disappearing into the head of hair nose first.

In his defence, he relinquished command of his cognitive ability after his first and only sip of his drink, leaving his chapter to simmer on the wood while his legs unconsciously led him outside, overcoming with the need to comfort the ball of perplexed anger in stunning form. "I'm becoming something I despise to be remain sane, but…" His gaze dropped to their hands, sucking energy from the fiendish counterpart that had now visibly relaxed. "Your face at the end of that dark tunnel makes it worth it for some reason, but I don't know how long it can still drag me to the safety of other side before deserting me bang smack in the middle of a place I don't want to be. Wasted time is such a fucking pet peeve, and I can't categorise the time with you as anything but that because I haven't learned anything new. I don't want to see it like that anymore, because that means it's the same for you, and that aches to a different level of humiliation."

He took advantage of his stare, moving closer to the barrier and trapping his body and mind against the iron bars, craning his neck over his shoulder. "How can you say that?"

"Because that's what it feels like. Because you're you, and you're too you to get it. I am different. I want to know more; big, small, microscopic, I don't give a shit. I need you to talk to me. Anything and everything, I want that. I'm done with knowing what everyone else knows. I want what I know to translate on this wavelength and not solely in your head."

"I didn't think the unnecessary mattered to you."

"Why would you think they're unnecessary? Everything that matters to you matters to me-"

"You matter to me. End of discussion."

Nero finally lifted his head, unsure of how that sentiment made him feel. "I can't accept that. I need more," he said, trepidation and marvel in his youthful view angled in expectance of the older hybrid, unknowingly fuzzy being so close to the wolf in his immaculate sleepwear; as intricate as his schema seemed to be, there was a single functioning rule pulling the strings under skin and bone of the still body of clear water, unable to deny the defying ripples as they spread outward from the centre of a solitary drop, shaking the surface in fluidity to rival the intensity of a crashing wave on the seashore.

It was when the surface moved on its own that caught Nero unawares, disobeying the laws of physics and acting on his own accord to get things in motion without account beyond his comprehension – it was nail-biting and convoluted, and the blind eye turned was his ignorance to his own faultlessly-shaped conceit that was the fifty one percent not his fault. "That's all I can give you for now."

True Dante couldn't screw that up for his sibling; no matter how much he liked messing with Vergil, this reply harboured weight on the heart he couldn't be responsible for, and prayed to the god of ambiguity he had the reply the boy was looking for. "I'll never come to learn the benefits of your silence on certain things."

"You will come to appreciate it the longer we're together." He plucked another string, shedding the old skin around the railing and finding a new home safely in his jean pockets. "If you don't believe me, you're more than welcome to ask Dante."

He had an answer for that should he ask. "I'll take my chances." The pair shared a chuckle at the notion and the tension ceased, individually thinking on the incredible response they would get from the younger and the silly string of accuracy that would stream from his infamous cakehole. The human yanked the huge hands out of their almost safe zone, leading them up and across the span of his chest to his left shoulder, and his left hand grazing his smooth, tingling stomach, putting his lips deathly close to his ear. He would never get away with it any did time attempted, yet now it seemed fitting and Dante didn't want to move out of it. Why? "I guess I don't have to tell you I told him about us."

Vergil beamed. From ear to ear. What was going on? "You don't, but I can pretend to be surprised or in shock if that's what you want."

The twin spoke with purpose, shifting stealthily to skin the softness of his lips with his jaw, doing his bit for humanity's sake at hearing a part of his soul leaving his frame. "Oh, now it's about me?"

"It's always been. For the past four years and for the next fifty, that's how it will remain." True Dante squeezed his hands, warranting a hiccup-squeal of sorts from the boy; squirming at the contact, the shaking bottle of champagne in his gut at long last popped into a mountain spring of fizz up his throat, enjoying the peachy burn of his boyish charm at full blast. "So, what will it be?"

The carbonated goodness kept its influence, effervescing with the acid and fluids in his tummy. "I haven't seen you surprised yet."

The younger twin took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Oh nooooo, I can't believe you did thaaaaaat; why didn't you run by me first, I could have given you some tips on how to deal with hiiiiiiiiim; was he depressed that I got to you before he did or did his life flash before his eyes and he couldn't say anything which is a feat in itseeeeeeeeelf…"

Monotone, randomly escalating the pitch on the accent of each word; the message melted into one long groan opposed to the lament it was supposed to be and completely on point with the manner in which Vergil would be surprised by something. Very little did, and when either Nero or Dante managed to get the correct timing of facts, the sole hitch was in his eyebrows – the one on the right, essentially – caving upward in an arc so mathematically impossible that their moment of achievement disappeared in the time it took his face to resume its usual grimace. The effort was there; as much as he appreciated the improvisation, it didn't take away the creepiness that was his attempt at dissociated emotion. "Never do that again."

Pretending to be shocked while in character exhausted him. "That's as much as you're going to get."

"I'm fine with that…" Nero trailed off, concentration lifting to the full moon once again. "Vergil, I-"

"-know what you're planning to say and I highly recommend you don't say it now." The hybrid followed suit, breathing in the crisp air while entranced with the sight in front of him; the level of content exuding from the smaller form was spellbinding, nearly inhuman in contrast to his prior dismal state in the nicer end of the three hundred and sixty five degree spin, comfortable and warm in the overwhelming deceit he knew nothing of. It wasn't too long now – no possible chance this would lead to another twenty four hours or any time after. "I should thank you for telling him."

For Dante, that meant the improbable made reality partnered with Vergil's dilution of alcohol content. Or maybe… maybe there was a way around it… "I was planning to do it anyway; nothing would have changed th-" He was cut short of his obvious revelation and joined the partial demon in a fruitful dip out of consciousness, clothed in nothing but spare reticence to froth at the plunge into the depths of those very same waters, hand and body tightly clasped in the perpetrator's embrace; the kiss came from nowhere, the gentle tug on his strands splitting the thick air in quarters for his attention to mush like putty in the hybrid's hands, taking immediate shape around his mouth upon the heated touch and continually rising against the ministrations of Vergil's tongue inflicting every flavour of mayhem. Nero craned his neck in stunned prospect, the pain of the angle numbed by the sensations of novel pleasure hitting his belly in reinforced lightning rods straight through the spine. The rest of his body turned to meet him, flush on his chest and round his chiselled back to lightly clutch the thin material, allowing himself to be tossed and twisted to Vergil's inexplicable taste. His arms lingered in position, patient to take command at his waist and hair to resume their zealous act of propitiation gifted to them by the untainted sky and cool breeze beneath the coat of the darkness – he had no choice but to surrender his strength, losing his drive in ingenuity to afford the sexiest of kisses he'd ever experienced, moaning in the back of his throat as his skull was set into place and Vergil went to every extreme and back, exploring the far reaches of his fancies inside the soft mouth bending to his will in virtuous yearning of the sin they acceded to on a nightly basis. He craved the connection, the tangling of their bare bodies on his crisp black sheets intertwining with their moans of ecstasy and releases in tow, waiting for the peak of impatience and lust to knock at their nerve endings and loutishly break down the barrier to the effort's intended purpose. The boy's erratic breath subsided with the twin's final kiss, trailing his tongue deliberately over his plump lips on its slow exit, nibbling on the wetness left by his eager body moving in agreement. Nero felt the delicious tingle between his legs, holding his gaping expression in fear it would subside. "That doesn't change anything."

"Great," said Vergil, keeping their bodies close for the sake of his own cognizance. "You were taking too long to make a move."

He never waited. Never. But the unanswered questions would have to wait. No human came equipped to process that manner of courtesy willy nilly, floating on a discernible nimbus under his feet. "You taste great." It had nothing to do with the hot chocolate.

"And you're burning up." True Dante coyly snuck his fingers on either side of his neck, drumming on the off tempo of his rushing heartbeat genuinely thrilled at the turn of events. "Can I get you anything?"

Nero nodded. "Air." He pointed upward. "Roof."

His favourite spot on the house to clear his mind of disarray; the younger had heard the struggle once or twice in the beginning, small cuts in the palm of his hands until maybe Vergil had stepped in and shown him a better route that was now in use. One corner of Vergil's mouth sprang to life at the bundle of fluster, feeling his temperature rise once more as their eyes met. "I'm going to finish that chapter and then I'll join you."

He never did that either. "How far are you?"

True Dante looked at the book. "Short a few pages; it's the small writing so you can count to ten."

Nero peeled his hands away in fear he may combust in the company of the ice king. "Don't tell me what to do."

The smaller man left his hands to move to the farther end and perch on the railing, standing to his full height and using a straight-cut chip in the exterior – made by a very sharp object; three guesses to what – to push himself high enough for his elbows to align with Vergil's ceiling, hoisting his body up and over onto the ceiling like it was no task at all, dusting off his shoes on the arrangement of cobblestones layered for effect and the harsh transitioning of seasons. He took a few steps forward to gage his area and spun, and the twin caught the brief glint of accomplishment in his proud eyes before stepping inside and plonking on the couch, picking up where he left off with no memory of what was written on the previous pages. "That's my boy."

The mosaic crunched under his boots, bringing him to the present with every uncomfortable step on the uneven plane; the town looked so insignificant from where he stood, apartment buildings in a lightened frenzy blinking the sleep from their eyes as the nocturnals get ready to prowl the sleeping streets they pass, grouped by hidden intent and bloodlust for the abnormal; few cars were speeding around corners and making clean getaways from too-lenient households, screeching the last dregs of their tread in the effort to enjoy surplus milliseconds at their destination granted they get there in one piece. Nero lifted his head and spirits toward the focus of his upward venture, picture-perfect broad-shouldered serenity against a breath-taking backdrop of pomp and circumstance and innermost joy fighting with all his strength to keep a straight face in preparation for the end of that chapter.

The world was on his side for once, deciding the actions of one red demon were worth some reward to neutralise the playing field of his hormonal symmetry; the scales had further to go but he'd take the taster for now, knowing down the line the happy side of the gauge would dip alongside him and outweigh the ordeal he didn't see coming, becoming more tolerable – forgotten is a better word – as the night went on. He had motivation not to dwell and so he wouldn't, bending over the edge of the roof and sighing at the hole he had made four years ago after jumping through the branches of two neighbouring trees, drilling a cylinder of nothing that never grew back and served as a constant reminder of his senselessness and the end of his one-day rebellious phase that went as quick as it came – there wasn't room for two whiny teens in the house, and Dante's cold shoulder was a ruthless punishment for someone who had just learned the impact of hardy twigs on short exposed arms and legs. He rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands behind his back, seeing the remnants of his developing mind take a careful spiral downward, the silence broken by a sound coming from behind him.

A cough.

He thought he imagined it as he zeroed in on his surroundings and came up empty, turning to the chimney that led to Dante's room and stood perplexed at the puff of smoke in humanoid form leaning against it: standing much taller than his fantastic four, the smoulder had its leg propped against the bricks and his arms defiantly crossed on where its chest would be: an incredible upper body was supported on a lean waist, brawny and powerful judging by the smoke that flowed like a waterfall down his entire frame; its head hung low in a comfortable slouch, concentrated on the variety of stones at its disposal and giving Nero a good look at the pair of its horns curling to the ground. The human could make out two lifeless gaping holes, lines of smoke cascading around every feature of a face he didn't recognise. And yet, not a spark of fear or alarm jolting him into battle mode; no raised hair on his neck and no tensing of muscles launching him into its personal space. The stranger waited calmly for their 'eyes' to meet, angling his head for a full once-over of the exact identikit once overheard by mistake. "Don't mind me. The fresh air is killing my lungs."

The deep, resounding, silky smooth voice proved his assumption true and he knew he had to be cautious or weary, afraid even, but his body betrayed his mind and the logic right in front of him, walking closer to the grey essence and relaxing with every step taken. He failed to recall this shape in his memories, and it confused him more at the familiarity of the being. "Never thought I'd see a demon miserable in the cool. Eternal inferno and all."

He thought he saw the thing blink, pursing his lips at the clever adlib. "Well-played."

"Living with two of them has its perks."

The grey cloud straightened and the falling puffy waves evaporated into thin air, revealing the demon's true form: towering at seven foot three, he was cookie-cut handsome and toned as the rest of them with a certain air that differentiated him from the species as a whole. Smooth, pale skin began to show under a bush of silver hair slicked back by a strong hand, wiping his face awake to uncover two striking blue eyes staring back at the poor boy, chilling his blood and slowing the circulation in his veins; the demon climbed out of the dusty nimbus at his feet and allowed the cold breeze to take care of the rest, stopping at the midway point of space between them. Nero's mind clicked into gear when he snuck his hands in his front pockets, swaying with his hip and a tilt to his head. "What brings you to the roof, son?" The cogs turned faster; his voice sounded familiar, even though he'd never heard it before now. "If I get caught up here, I won't hear the end of it. Getting it from Vergil is one thing, but Dante-"

"How do you know them?" The answer was hidden in plain sight, blinded by his worry for the welfare of his guardians who would be squashed like bugs under his feet, a broad guess based on the fact Nero couldn't pick up his presence. "Who are you?"

The devil's eyes narrowed and pierced his psyche, defiant and menacing in having to speak more than intended. He ground his teeth in mock irritation to intimidate the smaller man, and no sign of it worked. "You don't know me but you know of me, and you must know few demons here on earth not to be on your guard-"

"Sparda." He felt light-headed as it dawned in his daze. "You're Sparda." Repeating the sentiment didn't make his predicament better, breathing deeply to prolong his constricting lungs in astonishment. "Please tell me you're Sparda."

Sparda watched the imaginary terror subside quicker than he could picture it on his tranquil features; the most feared man in the land of living and dead did zilch to his disposition. "What makes you jump to that awful conclusion?"

The words came straight from Dante's mouth. "Your eyes. Hands down." His everything too – an impeccable blend of his sons so obvious he couldn't believe he didn't see it at first. The younger's liveliness displayed in Vergil's demeanour didn't look bad at all, all mature and respectable the way it was meant to look, making the two below seem miles off their target and mere juveniles in comparison to the reverence radiating through such a distance. "You can't be anyone else. Perhaps an older brother they haven't mentioned, but it's all over you."

The taller man cracked a lopsided smirk. "Then who am I to rob a man of his dreams?" He straightened to his centre of balance and floated across the empty gap between them, sticking out his hand in formal greeting. "I am Sparda. I'm likewise afraid to know what they've said about me."

"They haven't said a word. Hanson might have slipped your name after I forced an explanation out of him." He took the proffered limb in awe, feeling the burn of immense power through his god-like pores trying not to appear like the kid in the candy store he was.

"Ah, Eligor. Crafty fucker; one of the most dangerous and sweetest creatures in existence. Kind words of warning: don't let that face fool you. He's as harmless as you think he isn't."

There was no room for concern as they both knew he wouldn't lay a hand on the boy where his brother and Dante were concerned; those two forces joined at the hip had once shaken the very foundations of the unforgiving dimension below – Earth stood no chance. "How do you know me?"

Their hands broke free. "Who doesn't know you, Nero? Everyone six feet under knows of your presence thanks to Astaroth. You won't know that name-"

"I do," he said, outlining the stones at his feet to prevent the earlier events breaking his good mood. "I learned it today." He failed to comment on meeting him.

The king strode back to his perch avoiding the human's eyes completely. "You were just a child. They were wrong in doing that to you. If Lars truly wanted to be a father, he should have considered the risks more carefully." His tone took a daunting turn, sounding like his true title and narked by the concept of self-interest prevalent in their actions – to him, they were youngsters rushing into things with one care sitting at the forefront of every thought, they technically still were, and now it was gnawing on their giblets. That made him happy. "But they acquired their stubborn trait from the best in the business so what option was there?"

Sparda didn't mention who he spoke of; it could go either way. "Why haven't we met before now?"

"I've been asking Dante but he doesn't budge. Mind you, if a son denies his mother…" He trailed off, reaching the chimney and resuming his posture. "He's angry about his ride into the sunset on missing horseback that I was responsible for. Ten outta ten for first impressions, huh."

Nero returned the weak smile needing no further intel and resisting his nosy urge to ask for the proper half of the tale. "That has nothing to do with me-"

"On the surface, it appears that way-" Sparda stopped and twisted his face, scrunching the entirety of his left face for the inner Dante to spring free, curving his right eyebrow for its equal share of the awkward, unwarranted explanation. He was both of them at once. How? "I'm sorry. It's a gorgeous night and you came up here for some fresh air. Pay me no heed."

Sparda kept his head low as the footsteps sounded closer and louder, drained and pacified every inch taken toward the serene, towering demonic deity looking the part and more; Nero boldly propped his leg on the red brick and took a deep breath, holding it in as he lifted his head high to appear a little taller than his just-under-six-feet frame. "Aren't grandpas meant to squeeze things out of you?"

He took his shot much to the censoriously petrifying look splattered across his faultless features, shrinking to the left with severe sapphire striking him to the depths of his core. "Call me that again, I'll slap you like a grandson deserves." A threat on the outside, and the best thing he never thought he needed to hear. "My boys been giving you grief?"

There were other settings? The human hid his chuckle behind a cough, swatting away remnants of leftover smoke that were nowhere to be inhaled. "They've been good to me."

Not a yes or a no – this was a smart one on their hands, not to mention the hard time he could have given them in his younger years. The taller man nodded, his half smirk flashing on the wrong side of his face. "Eating your vegetables?"

Neither could resist. "Yes."

Another nod. "Eating your chocolate?"

"Yes."

He had to cater for the staple from both sides of his opposing offspring. "Eating your vegetables dipped in chocolate?" Nero winced at the possibility, catching the sugary aftermath of cute dimple dissolving back into Sparda's cheek. "Just a guess. For a long time that was the only way Dante would eat broccoli. Don't get me started on the asparagus."

He should be used to it by now, yet the concoction sounded so peculiar to his not-so-naked ear. "You're kidding."

"Maple syrup. Their mother would sometimes need to make fresh toffee if there wasn't anything in the fridge. Do make a turn to Vergil's room before you go to bed and ask him what midnight creations he's caught on camera."

Oh, he'd be doing that but for entirely different reasons. "And that one? What was he like?"

Nero soaked up information like water to the roots of a tree, fishing for more on his beloved duo from the sole life form who'd be honest enough with each detail, gruesome or not, and a direct perspective he could only dream being a part of; Nero remained star struck as he turned to the demon, biting the nail on his middle finger ready to spill tea on his oldest. "You know about the terrible twos? It wasn't a phase but a way of life for the mongrel." He sniffed. "Complained little, spoke little. Happy in his own world. Vergil looked miserable most of the time but we knew he wasn't and we didn't worry. Great warrior, that one – brutal in his fighting and fierce love for the creatures he kept close to him and a strong belief system incomparable to any of the other soldiers; I couldn't do any wrong in his eyes and that was his first mistake. That shell of his began peeling after about fifty or so years, and a moody adult is easier to deal with, or so I thought as he tried to impale me in the chest for not telling him his brother was missing."

His young eyes grew the size of blue china at the embodiment of fascination nibbling on air with raised eyebrows as if it was a normal kneejerk on an everyday basis. "He did that?"

"Justified. That's all I can say," said Sparda, making him think back to Vergil blowing his front door to dust particles to address the rumour and demand the truth, unsheathing Yamato and breaking his father's silence with a mere taste of his fury slicing through the back of his gold throne – an accent he to this day refuses to repair – leaving the room with the sword protruding from his flesh and dancing to his father's heartbeat without a single word as the other two watched on like lost puppies; Bubba walked slowly after him, unnervingly keeping his eyes at the blood drenching his attire and Lucy stayed by his side, the trusted henchman's hands shaking at the power reverberating from its hilt in attempting to wrench it out. "It did hurt. I don't have a scar to show, but there's one on my subconscious." He needn't relive it, motioning to his temples to show the exact location and the end of the verbal vignette, lifting the depressive undertone to something happier. "Dante was a happy kid. Even on the days he was sad, he was happy. A ferocious heart downplaying his teddy bear appearance, like a Caramello Koala oozing the makings of a uniqueness custom designed by Haley's Comet-" Nero's face dwindled at the mention of the treat, furrowing his whole body in misunderstanding. "I don't know what to make of that."

The tracks on his train of thought needed a good cleaning. "What's a Caramello Koala?"

It was Sparda's turn for a bout of disbelief, pulling out the hollowed caramel-filled chocolate marsupial and handing it to the boy who eyed the tiny packaging suspiciously, waiting for the mini explosion of bad to erupt. "I keep a few in my pocket at all times; it won't hurt." The smile on his face was what sold him over to the dark side, tearing the transparent corner and ogling at the tiny Cadbury marvel that managed to evade his grasp. "But I digress - Dante was… god, he was a nightmare too, but a pleasant one. He talked to us and told us what was on his mind, and for a while we thought we grabbed the wrong baby at the nursery. It was too late to take him back and admit the mistake anyway, so we kept him. Running around causing chaos everywhere he went; we thought it was a sugar high until it lasted a week…" Nero wasn't listening: his voice was tuned out by the miniature excuse of a chocolate having its head bitten off between two perfect sets of teeth. "…Turns out we make the same face when either of us makes a huge mistake, so it was confirmed I was his father. That sweet tooth skipped Vergil for some reason, but his love for grapes has escalated to vicious echelons."

It was hidden behind the assortment of sours in the pockets of his cheeks, always at the ready for the off chance something made him happy. "Argh yuu sghre ey're kwings?" He managed to pick up the last two sentences amid the sticky caramel swirling and fixing to his teeth; the addition of the milky cocoa melting on his tongue was heaven, transporting his cognition to the realm of disjointed prattle that declined the more the small sculpture sunk to his tummy and joined his bloodstream for a kick in the wrong direction.

 _This boy is truly something_ , thought Sparda, bit by bit unravelling into the man Lars spoke so highly of. It was easy to see the interest and suited under isolation, a pure heart and geniusly sound mind that would have complimented them as a loving three-pronged unit. He was perfect by every sense of the word. "I asked Eva the same thing for as long as I could remember. They're more alike now than when they were growing up, trust me on that. The contrast would have scared you. She had sleepless nights worried about them being too different, but it worked out in the end."

He should have guessed but asked anyway. "Eva?"

Just hearing her name made the world a greater place. "My wife. She's desperate to meet you, but Dante hasn't spoken to me in-" he trailed off again, apprehensively tugging at the baby hairs on his neck. His dejected expression made him seem so terribly human, so touchable and significant, that the once curious teen's heart dropped the instant regret flashed in his glowing eyes, a foul taste in his mouth replacing the deliciousness that was his courtesy extended by perchance alone. "You see, when he cares deeply, he's a different person. Because of what you represent, you're a living lifeline for him to atone for a sin he was too naïve to believe existed. Your presence means more than anyone is capable of realising."

Being left in the dark looked devastating, and Nero couldn't let the topic go on for much longer, wanting the less important and emotional subject matter to bring his spirit up and keep him up here longer, seeking out the red mischief to overturn the blue melancholy. "And that would be…?"

Nero wasn't expecting much of an answer; he went on what little he knew about their relationship and chose to remain on the thinning surface of ice, careful to step on the border holding onto a safeguard rather than taking the risk of falling through and drowning all of them to quench his thirst for knowledge he had no business butting into. But it was his business; everything pertaining to Dante he had the right to know, even more so now that he knew the origins of his upkeep. Still, there was detail mingled in the unsatisfying grey swamp of data, and getting away with finding it out and having all of his fingers intact was a ratio too pitiful for his own good. The human dropped his head to the arranged beige and copper pebbles, twisting his head to glare back at the full moon as a soft, consoling hand pinched his right shoulder. "Their future," he said, voluntarily grabbing his focus out of the black hole it was being sucked into. "You have to realise how important you are, Nero. I wish you wouldn't think these things-"

They kept their eyes trained on each other as his sincerity was sliced down its gooey centre, thickening the air between them with the addition of the auxiliary bonuses in the furthest corners of their eyes. Nero didn't have to look to recognise the sound of the crisp wisps of nightly air spinning around two pairs of slippered feet.

* * *

The tiny knock to his bedroom door was unnecessary, looking up from the book and seeing Vergil had let himself in regardless, sauntering over in nothing but Dante's most hated preference in sleepwear. "You've read that a hundred times."

True Dante kept his place with a single finger and partially closed the book, inspecting the crimson and gold splattered cover of the novel and trailing off with a good look to his well-looked-after frame, glorious and bold with the influence of Vergil in vanguard and incapable of being missed by a single entity in their inner circle. The pants, too, were a nice touch. "Doesn't get old…" he said mockingly, too obstinate to declare enjoyment. "Why are you wearing that?"

The look of disapproval aimed at the white cotton could frighten a new-born; he truly was getting the hang of his elder sibling. "I take it off when I get under the covers. Your precious naked body is in good hands." He didn't, but a disagreement on an item of clothing was far beyond his pay grade. He took a seat next to his engrossed twin, waiting for the reading allergies to flare up on his neck as he watched him take a sip of his hot chocolate. "Is Nero sleeping?"

After successfully chipmunking three quarters of his lukewarm drink, the set glass positioned in front of true Vergil tempted a gander for a conscious answer to what he might have already known. He leaned in and adjusted it over a coaster, seeing a smidgen of the snow white layer drifting like fluffy islands on a delicious brown sea moving with his wavering stoic nerve. "He's on the roof getting some air. I think I may have successfully gotten him back on your side-"

"The roof? Like, up there?"

Dante pointed to the ceiling, blandly acknowledging the obvious. "Is there another meaning-" True Dante's words caught in his throat, finishing the last line of the chapter unsatisfied that it ended in a metaphorical cliffhanger to fulfil his end of the bargain made a few minutes ago. But not without catching the whiff of smoke coming from his own ears. He liked that his face gave him away without warning, turning and glaring at the digit held in the air. "What's on the roof, Vergil?"

The new face also meant lying wasn't as easy. "Nothing."

"I've been sensing him this entire time and he seems fine. What are you not telling me?" Without knowing, that was his first clue.

Dante focussed on the glaze over his own eyes; increased heart rate, check. "It's not important-"

"What. Is. On. The. Roof. Brother."

Vergil quietly rose to his feet and spoke accordingly, mollifying his body in a temporary shutdown. "You said he's fine-"

The incomplete thought roamed between time and space as true Dante grabbed his shoulder and teleported them both to the top of their abode, correcting their centre of gravity against the bumpy – albeit small – spiky terrain made significantly bearable by the thin coating of rubber under their feet. By some unknown force of nature, he was turned to facing his brother with a blank gaze who looked straight ahead at the pair in utter content altered to puzzled remorse. Fifteen shades of discomfort painted across his face in a span of three seconds. _You knew._

Dante's face twisted to his father, switching from their expressions of calm horror. _Let me handle this-_

 _Don't you dare move a muscle._ Vergil stuck his arm out to stop his momentum and indirectly declining the peaceful outcome to the evening.

This wasn't his battle, and he understood his role immediately. _If it makes you feel better, I wasn't going to tell you._

The rocks under Sparda's feet adapted and crunched under his new stance, facing his twin sons with a ferocity Nero knew he couldn't get used to; the air congealed with every possible emotion under the sun, making him lightheaded at the conflicting mix emanating from each demon within the constricted proximity. Never before had he seen his guardians so like the other in embracing the forgotten past so willingly, recalling the unnerving situations in which they had parted ways for their own sakes, going against the grain set out for them since birth and now having to face the incarnation of their wildest dreams in human, relatable form as scary as they remember. Vergil's story differed greatly from his identical counterpart, leaving aside the notion of knowing the nightly trips to their roof, but in complexity and deep-rooted anguish, clashing personalities and expectations of livelihood that suited neither, and the only contest in history with the inability to determine a victor by combat. No winner or loser; just a broken link tethered at the ends, sparking with electricity and dangerous to anyone who risked touching it. "Vergil," he said with a slanted bow to his oldest; he doubled his efforts for the other, dead set on the stones at his feet. "Dante."

Vergil opened his mouth to speak, shutting it in a deep exhale to the logic behind the undetectable patriarch. He was designed to never appear on any radar no matter how powerful, how concentrated, having the trait woven in his DNA during his coronation as ruler of the fiery plane; his very existence hidden apart from a visionary experience of the devil, and the image delaying your sense of reality and time as a whole meant nothing as an enemy or innocent bystander in the way of his wrath. The older face became encased in its usual ascetic features, his mouth in an untamed straight line at the geniality in the connected greeting. "Nero, get inside the house."

Imbued with Lars' intractability, there was no chance in Hell a single line meant him going anywhere. "We're talking."

The younger was reluctant to hand the leash over to Vergil's seventy percent, and he knew better ways to deal with what was coming, but he needed to separate them as quick as he could. "I don't think you heard me-"

"I heard you, but whatever you have to say can wait."

There was nothing to say, and that made it worse. "I would like to have a chat with my father."

"And I said no," said Nero, growling the sentiment to the other corner of the perimeter whose mood changed with every blink of his icy blues. The boy pleaded soundlessly with the duplicate face next to him for more time with the man, simply wanting to enjoy an atypical portion of the normal family life he was pledged. "Don't take this away from me; we both know I won't get another chance."

Nero's downturned woe missed the unequivocal snap to their necks in their father's direction as his finger wagged in the space between them, wincing at the smell of something truly odd. Sparda never missed a beat, giving two once-overs confirming a basic suspicion of what he knew of his two boys. "What's going on here?"

Unfortunately, the human wasn't paying attention and brushed it off as a jab to Vergil's sour demeanour. "He does this on purpose sometimes. I don't know why."

Unlike his sons, Sparda cleared misconceptions as they rose. "That's not what I meant-"

"You will do as you're told!" The King of Hell narrowed his eyes at the kinder soul.

"I WILL LEAVE WHEN I'M DONE!"

"AS OF NOW, YOU ARE DONE!"

Sparda's entire frame stood in confusion by the frozen delivery across the area and the erupting volcano to his left, already bubbling over and ready to burst should one more word come from Vergil's mouth. Dante's mouth, he corrected himself, perplexed at how much his presence brought out the worst him. Bad timing was an understatement, and the voice of reason in their triangle just stood and watched sans diffusing action or words. A hand to his shoulder brought his temperature back to a normal reading, shaking his head at comprehending the intent of the argument he was going to put forward, disheartened by the ratio of three to one. "Nero, I think it's best to listen to him."

His tongue found his cheek, sheepishly nodding to his loss. "I know we've just met, but give me the best reason you can think of as to why."

And cue his appeasing mechanism administered by both his children: the giant of a being shifted his grasp to the back of the boy's neck and played with the baby hairs along his silver hairline, doing his bit of good in offering a meagre hint of solace to the unfair treatment. "I can't give you one."

The boy proffered a defeated stare to his right, moving little to distract the fingers at work. "I've been on the other end of the stick too many times to count. I can handle one more-"

"He knows that if he disrespects you one more time, his head will be separated from his body. Don't you, sweet child of mine?" The gentle rhythmic scratches evolved to a soft vice, gyrating in concentric circles at the base of his skull to drain his warranted anger in excess and relaxing him outside the boundaries of the humanly possible. "You know where to find me, Nero. Let me smack some sense into my sons. That isn't something any human should see."

All the good energy streamed through his veins and made him feel like a new man from the inside out, slowly drifting back to the real world and his unreal circumstances he found himself in. He could tick another box off his mental to-do list, and one thing stood in the way of victory: a confession. "Please send regards to your wife back home. I can't wait to meet her."

He drew strength from the confidence in Sparda's eyes, inhaling the charred faculties leaching out his demonic pores for the courage to candidly submit to his guardian. "I'll be right down-"

"No rush," he said, halting at the edge directly above the balcony. "I'm in no mood to hear your voice." He sat with his legs swinging over the edge, looking to but not seeing the magnificent simplicity of the twinkling stars fluttering their eyelids in approval. "You could have just said it was a family issue and be done with it."

True Dante loathed the dissociation scheme, solely used insentiently by the boy to make himself feel better by making them feel worse. "Nero-"

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Sparda."

"Goodnight, Nero." The duo shared a charming smile ignoring the other bland faces in the vicinity as he dropped down, twisting and catching his weight whilst clinging on his fingertips for a shorter distance and a weaker landing; all three of them focussed on the closing sliding door and the tenacious footsteps down the stairs, stopping for two seconds to unlock his bedroom and step inside. The brothers visibly winced at the slammed door, frowning at how out of place and peculiar his movements appeared. "Spicy. I love it."

True Vergil rubbed his temple. "Lars raised him, what did you expect?" Sparda lifted his chin for further mock elaboration. "Astaroth."

The king leaned his huge frame on his previous perch satisfied to be speaking their language. "He has no clue your bodies are switched?"

The elevated eyebrow asked them if they were sure; two nods were certain. "Hanson's handiwork. We think everything will go back to normal by tomorrow." The demon lifted his head once again, pausing at the human name for reasons only known to him. "Eligor – come on, father, you can't be stuck in that rut for the rest of eternity. But you'll have to excuse me; I have to get Nero to calm down. You could put popcorn kernels on any part of his body and have a fresh batch in the time it takes to make a pot of coffee."

Sparda waited for full view of his naked back before sinking his teeth into uncultivated territory, his senses heightened by the complimentary scents radiating from both him and the human. "Am I being bold in asking what's going on between you and my grandson?"

Dante's jaw twitched. He hit a nerve, did he? "You are."

"So you don't know? Got it." He sucked on his teeth. "Weren't you in agreement to take Eligor's hand?"

"He grew tired of the idea."

"You were eyeing him like a beef wellington with a punnet of grapes on the side-"

"That was years ago-"

"You're a man of your word-"

"Made on the basis that he wouldn't choose otherwise-"

"Seems like it worked out for you just fine."

"Seems so," said his eldest, making out the silhouette of his father's three-headed guard dog gnawing at his thick skull, it's owner coiling the invisible leash around his strong wrist. "Do you have a problem with it?"

Vergil snorted in his spot, avoiding any and all unnecessary eye contact with either of the conversants. "Is this what you want?"

The dog reared its lips for a big bite. "You need to ask him that-"

"I'm asking you."

"I don't know yet." The king nodded, pouting his lips in feigned reflection as the amusement was caught on route over his head. "Ha ha ha. You have made your point. Can I go now?"

Sparda's pursed lips broke into a demoralizingly seductive smirk that froze his eldest in his fuzzy footwear, his bright blue eyes catching the spark of troubled nerves veiled behind the supremacy of his forbearing features; true Vergil nodded in acknowledged pride, watching his brother's patience and apprehension unfold at the best time and in the best manner with calm breaths and a downturned glaze of unseen strength in preparation for this very moment, shuffling the weathered rocks at his feet together in the open gaps hoping his mind would do the same in the heat of the circumstance he'd secretly, without admittance, been waiting for. He gave his father an in-air raspberry the demon pieced with the body and face, hands hooking under the waistband of his jammies as he walked to Nero's spot and stepped off the ledge, but not before seizing a glimpse of Dante's ever-so-slight joy at being left alone with Sparda becoming clearer at the apex and then completely disappearing behind brown facebrick and landing onto the small balcony, coercing his reflected image to stare back with a toothy grin splitting his sibling's face in two.

It didn't last long, however, lifting his head with his father in his direct line of sight, a tired, weak straight ghost of a smile telling him all there was to know about what to expect from the switched hybrid. Sparda straightened at his post and crossed his arms over his chest, activating 'dad mode' with full purpose of getting words to sprout from the mouth that gaped defiantly in his direction. "For someone who clawed on desperation to speak to me, you're pretty quiet," he said, teasing a black pinprick-sized portal back to Hell a couple of inches to the left of Vergil's calm – default – physique. "It's a long journey home, so-"

"Sixty seven years, three months, and twenty six days in case you were wondering."

The wormhole dissolved in a rude electric pop, echoing through the vacant streets and piquing the interest of a few individuals hurriedly scanning the sky for storm clouds. "I know the number."

The king went a step further adding the hours, minutes and seconds since the last time he saw his son; he guessed the ink to the red marker wouldn't last as long as it did when he sneakily sought out the spares purchased by his dear spouse – his personal source of energy compelling him to finish what he started and to put an end to their shared ugliness once and for all, serving as a daily reminder to sculpt him into the person he needed to be when the time arose. "Why now? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here every night, Dante; you just happened to catch me out. The real question is why are YOU here."

He lost his playful hue, blandly stating his nightly routine to his audience of one. "Okay, then why are you stalking my roof?"

"Stalking requires effort. Doesn't take much to land on a roof."

"Why this roof in particular?"

"It's big and pretty from far," he growled, and Dante recognised the tone to end the pointless inquisition on an emasculated high. An unamused Vergil had his half-blown gasket at the ready, tight-lipped and aging twenty years via his resting bitch face. "You got something on your chest, bud?" He waited a second – more than ample time in his realm – and continued his ad libitum discourse. "Great, then you can listen-"

"That's not how this works." The hybrid let slip his own half into the mix, looking on the verge of tears yet claiming his brother's quality stone-faced composure to take over their interaction. "I'm not in the mood to defend a lost cause-"

"I won't get this chance again, and unlike poor Nero a few minutes ago, I don't care what you think about me. The worst has been done and downhill is where I make a living, so you just shut up and pay attention." His deliverance as if it were rehearsed in a soundproof corridor for days on end, commanding the ears of anyone who would listen; unknown to him, Dante held a great deal of respect for his father regardless of the quarrel that separated them and any tactic he thought he needed in use of grabbing his attention was inane. "First and foremost, you are my son; I think you now understand what that means. The world means absolutely nothing and everyone – everything – around you are enemies, ready, equipped with the means to cause harm, especially to you because of who you were and what you represented." The taller man walked to the spot where the conjured, receding portal still lingered in the tepid breeze, touching the small invisible hollow pulling the empires together in an effort to get closer to his baby boy – yes, they were his babies until the day any of the three ceased to exist. "If my son is going to run to me, telling me he no longer wants the throne because he's in love and wants a normal life, I'm going to ask questions. Questions that will assure me of your happiness wherever you are and in whatever state you might be. I asked Lars those questions and he couldn't answer; he hadn't thought that far, that's what he said." He pulled his finger out of the crevice in its final stage of shutdown, laughing breathily to cover his boredom for his own following sentiments. "Far? What does that even mean? How do you expect me to trust the most dangerous creature in existence with your life if he couldn't think 'that far' when it came to you?" Sparda licked the finger, sucking the sugary bloodied leftovers of the unused gateway as he turned to his sweetly leering son. "I know the way you think, Dante… The way you work; you're passionate and caring, fierce in using your strength for your cause and you give your all to whatever or whoever needed it. Do you really think I'd be okay with anything less than the hundred percent I know you'd give? What kind of father would I be letting you walk off with someone I believed at that point wasn't worthy and there was something I could have done to stop it?"

These were the parts he knew better not wanting to know and his father knew that, spewing line after line of dialogue not fated to his hypersensitive hearing. "I ran to you because I thought you'd have my back. I assumed you'd be happy for me; you preached that to us every day, that you were happy when we were. I wanted guidance, and the one time – ONE TIME – I needed you, you pushed me into a corner asking me to shut up-"

"Lars scares me." Basic, deliberate, menacingly honest; dignified and cautious like the father he was. "He was next in line – do you know what those three words mean? Do you know their impact on the galaxy as a whole?" His hands hovered in front of his chest, flexing his digits into a fist so brutal the air bubbles ready to burst in his knuckles could be felt on the other side of the planet – limnic eruptions minus the fatal clouds and death toll. "How full of hate must you be to claim the title without blood relation, huh? He was a stranger that fell to us from the sky, given armour to fight for a cause he was too young to comprehend, beating the seats off their ranks two at a time. Now you tell me where the worry lies when my youngest tells me this is the man of his dreams. A man I had to force myself to tolerate beyond the battlefield because it meant everything to my son; a man so unforgiving, and all I could do was watch. A loyal man who I considered the only threat to our lives. To yours, with an emotion he promised to deliver that I hadn't seen on his resume in the centuries we fought side by side. I know he'd never hurt you, son, that's a given – my concern lied beyond your protection. Quite the opposite."

Dante got it, he did, more in tune with the fatherly perspective given his willing obligation to the human living under his roof. "He dropped to his knees begging you to believe that he wouldn't lay a hand on me. What part of that couldn't you believe?"

Again, Sparda should have noted the genuineness in its purest, authentic form. "I know that. I wanted to. I trusted him in charge of your upbringing because I wanted you to be just like him; and before you say it contradicts what I've said until now, there's a difference to having a son like him and having your son run away with someone like him. All I wanted was to know you'd be safe; that your dreams would be achieved and you'd become that unstoppable force you were born into, and you have…"

The younger squared his jaw, smelling the set up before the words had successfully formed in his father's mind, now driven by slight vexation of his father's predictability than the emotion of the subject matter – Vergil was in full force. "This is your kumbaya moment, right? Where you tell me you were wrong and you make yourself the victim?"

He had no intention of fulfilling one of those criteria, mindful of the distance shrinking by dint of true Dante's visceral want to be near him. "People change. Indeed, I was wrong about him all this time and I've made peace with my mistake. A mistake that I thought cost me dearly, but…" He puffed his cheeks and altered his focus over the hybrid's shoulder, breaking the vial of trust he and his companion jointly sealed in the fires of the Underworld and left to be forgotten until… now. "Lars came to me when you said no," he said, his line of sight jerked back to the sudden upward snap in Vergil's neck. "He went to your mother and your mother brought him to me. He couldn't look me in the eye to tell me what was wrong… and that stung. That because of what happened, he was no longer comfortable talking to me. Our conversations didn't give me sleepless nights and I wish they had; I became so engrossed in his disapproval and my pride that I disregarded the true meaning behind our disagreements and that was your well-being. I was so wrong. As a king, I failed him greatly, and no apology could set things right. I burned my own agenda to comfort a broken man hurt by the son I tried to defend in being too good for him and I was dumbstruck by the sheer emotion he was unafraid of sharing with me. I refuse to take back anything I said, and he knows this, but the mere fact that he chose to come home spoke volumes of his character." The worst part about it all was that a shattered heart was what it took for the immortal to grasp his faults, the imbalance setting Lars in the wrong light than he had previously donned. "I have apologised to him on multiple occasions since then, and I get the same reply each time: 'it doesn't matter now'. To him it does. I have come to know the person that he is, not the person he was. I moulded him into a monster and shat on him for that reason to deny him his right to make you happy. I am a selfish, horrible person and you two deserve to be together. I have failed you as a father: nothing comes close to that form of regret having two sons and unable to set that example for them. That's all I wanted to say." Sparda felt Jupiter's gravitational pull lift off his lungs, taking a deep breath in salute for a long overdue response undeserving of his clotted vanity – the lungful escaped him like the black smoke his body was formerly shrouded in, plaiting with the clean air and overpowered in its purity and sheer volume all around him, changing its colour to blend in and dematerialise alongside its marginal value that served no outcome whatsoever. "That wasn't an apology. I have to grab you when I can." That much was certain, granted the absurd and inexplicably grim gap whose growth finally hindered amid the arguing twosome standing in translucent silence as the unsaid created a quiet whirlwind at his legs and caught off guard by the miniscule shake to his stance. "Do you want me to leave?"

Although arrogantly tilting his head, the younger caught his sincerity red-handed, sidestepping the apathetic look he was going for. Dante had one qualm amongst everything the man had said, rubbing pseudo-warmth in his forearms to give his hands something to do while pacing toward him. "You didn't fail as a father."

"And as I man, I would like to believe you."

Ignoring the question did wonders for both their psyches. "When you say broken man-"

"I mean it in every sense of the word, but that's not my story to tell." A single chuckle left him, shaking his head at one of the memories he tried his best to supress. "I'm glad he did, and I also wish I didn't see so much pain emanating from such a tiny body."

Such comparisons only worked on people who suited the profile. "Lars isn't tiny."

"Exactly. Well, he is to me, but that's not the point I'm trying to make."

Stodgy and dense, a niggling hush tiptoed and exposed its foreseeable obnoxious dome amid the crack between the pair, felt more by the one impending inquisition than the examiner who likewise frowned on the interrogation. "And now it's my turn…?"

Sparda scrunched his face. "I need to ask, son. You've heard my side, now I need to hear yours. Enough time has passed, not that it matters; I never expected such a well-rounded creature to come out of this."

Vergil's rare smile made a spontaneous appearance, no one more astounded than the demon in the front row. "You got that from fifteen minutes with him."

It wasn't a query; a modest statement as most would expect and no surplus in explanation; Dante wasn't surprised either. "A father knows." He sucked it back in, bobbing his head from side to side and rolling his eyes in a manner expounded by his twin offspring. "A grandfather knows." Sparda reached over, ran through and fluffed the slicked back style, bringing bunches of the silver strands forward and into his eyes making him look a bit more like the sibling inhabiting the body. He used the approach on Vergil countless times for the same reason, turning him into his dear brother who, sometimes, wouldn't stop hammering on once he or their mother got him started. It hurt him to see that same flash of energy leaning into the hand that pushed a stray tuft behind his ear and rested on his cheek, trapping it between his jaw and shoulder devoid of putting on a brave face for the number of rollercoasters he'd put up with in less than twenty four hours. The soul was drained dry, and the small gesture gave him the strength he sought to carry on. "Come on. Talk to me."

His stubborn eyes were determined to avoid his stare, binding a grip around his wrist and carefully peeling away the warmth of his touch for a different point of focus and successfully locating one, toying with his wedding ring: the smooth titanium band and carbon fibre inlay with bevelled edges shone in various shapes in the moonlight, the small embedded violet sapphire glinting its hue of splendid elegant royalty and shining brightly for all to know his rightful title – for as long as he could remember, the twins were obsessed with the stone and its meaning, having countless conversations-turned-arguments about the wearer and for how long, going as far as stating an alternate each day holding the responsibility for seven days in a two week cycle respectively. The gleam from the precious stone lost its efficacy too quickly, no longer igniting excitement in his adult sons as they paved their own paths away from the jewellery symbolising an eternal tie to the Underworld that was their birth right. Some birth right it ended up being, the destined inheritents recalling the flashy dream and the lies they were fed to veil the fine print of their misfortune: it came from a rainy night and deliberately getting trapped in Lars' library that they'd come to know what they were signing up for if they did, the scribbles of their dainty signatures marking their place in history with the bloodied ink of the innumerable lives that would fall fighting for the foundations laid by their predecessors and becoming the living face of a undead nation. Dante removed the synthesised, cursed band and placed it on his ring finger, grasping the power and liability if just for a few moments, flexing his hands at a myriad of angles to validate its look and feel in his clutches, wincing at the tiny sting as it registered its place on another. "Lars made a mistake," he said, balling a fist with the middle phalanx between his teeth. "He shouldn't have given me a choice."

Sparda tilted his head, sneaking his hands in his pockets while committing the image to memory. "He believed in you to pick the right one."

"And I did." He mirrored his father's cuteness, utterly deflated with a figurative brass shovel in his red triggered claws stationed at the solitary decaying gravestone, digging the tip into the uncultivable soil littered in dry twigs and lifeless insects who knew no better. "It sucks having to stand here and admit my embarrassment to not sharing the spotlight with a child in need of a loving home that I knew I couldn't provide; I can't pretend I would have known what I was doing with such a high chance of messing up an impressionable, young soul, and taking responsibility by leading him into a volatile home was too much for me. We had just managed to get our footing and he sprang this on me." The pickaxe came out, recurrently getting stuck in the thick layer of concrete poured and set since the morning after. "I was thinking of us-"

"And he was thinking of Nero." Sparda's eyes were rich in curiosity, observing the irony from the side-lines. "And now that's all you do."

"I could afford to say yes. Like I had another option after what I did."

He did. There were other possibilities to take care of the boy, and choosing the correct answer this time saved Nero a world of hurt. "Lars asked – asking implies a choice, Dante. You put the pressure on yourself when there was none-"

"Don't do that." He was quietly crawling down the path of the few, burning from his stomach up to his chest and constricting his true intentions splendidly out of respect for the upper hand his father clutched onto, extending his hand three inches short of the surging ribcage in front of him. "Don't make me feel like crap for a feeling I consciously abandoned for the sake of my relationship; I don't want to imagine caring for a toddler while we had so much to work on." Dante focussed on the ring once again and spun it twice, lifting his head to greet the cerulean resolve staring back while sliding it off and passing it back home, holding it in the palm of his hand for Sparda to take. "I wasn't ready and he was. He loves Nero with all his heart and that's all that counts."

The taller man maintained his posture more Vergil than the one standing a foot away. He was painfully calm, silently challenging his father to curtail his speech before his triggered state hacked all the way through, obediently standing behind the reel of red tape that stated he DO NOT CROSS. "Whatever you think he feels, Lars isn't angry with you. He's hurt. That's all it boils down to."

"You don't think I know that? I had to wake up next to that face pretending nothing ever happened because that's what he wanted. Everything around me is a reminder, so I get my quota on a daily basis, don't worry." He was the last person who needed to be told, hearing the same tune play in his head every time someone on the outside felt the need to explain it to him; the parlotone static traversed in a quivering line across both ear canals and growing in volume to penetrate the base of his neck. He hated to admit he was okay with it, thinking it a mere morsel of a puzzle piece in comparison to what was going through the floating conundrum that was Lars' mind, hiding underneath his kind smile and soft, cunning eyes, and everyday blinking away the upset of not hearing Nero's tiny footsteps the way he had imagined. Dante breathed deeply, shutting his eyes for the umpteenth time and allowing a miniature Vergil to run amok in his immediate thoughts, slashing the bad, immature mojo to soothe his impatience with his father, opening them to a kindness solely known by a son with a troubled mind. "I'm sorry. Today's been-"

"I know. I saw the whole thing," he said, scratching his neck underneath a delightful smirk and a razor-sharp jaw with an air that what he said should have been obvious enough. The look he got in return confirmed it, true Dante pulling an expression that encapsulated the droll sentiment of 'heh?' "Neither you nor Vergil look up on any of your missions, do you?" Sparda claimed it diffidently, reading the inscription on the inside as a ritual before putting it on and hearing it sigh in noble glee. "Talk to him. That's all he wants. That's what anyone would want. You're still good at that, aren't you?"

To the point of his own detriment, yes. "I can't do that. I do that I break; I'd die before he sees me broken."

Lars already had, standing next to Sparda at that time, both believing nothing would come close and they had yet to be proven wrong. "Now you're being selfish."

He shrugged, heavily. "I've been selfish this entire time; in failing to recognise that, I understand the frustration he went through. I get why it was such a big deal to him; four years has made me believe not taking Nero in is my biggest regret, and I can never take back, but I believe I've done all that I could to give him a good home despite my shortcomings." Dante smiled – yes, he smiled – knocking the demon back to the days of when they were so young and innocent, their only care in the world winning at rock-paper-scissors to decide who'd get to go first on the Nintendo 64. "I didn't want to get attached and look at me now. I'd bend solar systems for him." Sparda would have gone for 'I'm pretending to be his lover so he can't find out we've been lying to him for almost forty eight hours', but his allegory was good enough. "The concept of a human child implied death. I'm not good with death. Knowing there will be a day the world will wake up and he won't be there-"

"There are ways to prevent that." He couldn't have said it faster, holding up his hand and tapping his index finger to his temple. "Way."

The twin played a drumroll in his head, wanting the topic to be over and done with owing to its delicate nature in holding the second spot on his list of five. "I didn't want it to come to that when he was still young because I knew that would have been the first thing on Lars' mind. He's old enough to make that choice now if it's viable."

Sparda ignored his tone signalling the end of the discussion. "Would you support him?"

"I will be by his side until he asks me to leave. First, I'd take all the chocolate and then leave, but that's beside the point."

"Oh, right, now that you remind me-" he reached into the same pocket and plucked out two more, clasping the heat-sensitive candy by the corners for their longevity sake – as long as they disappeared after he handed them over, he was clean. "Here."

Dante saw glistening brown and tried to hide his equable delight grabbing them from the warmer-than-average clench doing his best to keep it from melting. "What is this?"

"Blackmail. In case you found me up here." He turned the chocolate koala in awe, made more beautifully delicious with the natural light. "Your favourite."

Sparda nudged him out of his trance, his gigantic elbow doing the trick to knock him back to the present out of his fond memories with the antique, remembering the announcement of the company going bankrupt and ending manufacturing at his tender age of twelve. "They don't make these anymore."

He shook his head, swooshing his snowy fringe all over his face. "Your mother learned." Sparda knew he required those words to get his point across, unfairly strumming his son's adult heartstrings with the truth. At any angle, it was fun to watch. "Gods forbid she'd let me leave the house without something sweet in the off chance we bump into one another." He tucked his hair behind his ear, combing the smoothness between his fingers while his son marvelled the petite replica and the memories contained in its chewy inside, laughing sadly to himself at the galling twist he'd been waiting for all day shaken out of his hysteria with a hard fist to his shoulder with sufficient a whiff of his strength to earn a thankful sneer from his youngest. "Everything is going to be okay, I promise-" He headbutted his chest with no desired effect, the bolstering aftershock absorbed into the massive area and rested against it, clawing onto the side hems of his shirt as Sparda stood perplexed in his own skin, arms floating in orbit around his son's relaxing frame. He smelt like home, ferocity and righteousness entwined in the soft fabric of his designer clothes mixed in with some good old-fashioned scorched blood and disintegrated bone and a confusing aftertaste of vanilla and coconut almost definitely his mother's doing; he wanted to cringe at how much stronger the demon had become, physically and emotionally, feeling the warmth synonymous to his past exuding through the little contact they shared. The slow, cadenced heartbeat made him sink deeper into his father's torso, fitting snuggly in his embrace as Sparda found his crown, digging between and gently caressing the silky strands until he found his scalp, scratching deep lines all the way down to his neck under instinctual reflex. It took him all the way back to when they were single digits in age and Lars was having an off day, running to their father in the middle of the night owing to gorgeous night terrors and greeted with warm milk and a seat on either arm of his medieval La-Z-Boy, falling asleep in his lap with the same hypnotising kinesis to their subconscious. Their warm breaths broke the quiet air, halcyon puffs of steam carrying with them the ageless anecdotes of consequence shared and apart, withering away in the overpowering cold breeze. "I love you, Dante."

The declaration snapped the purring inner demon to full attention, drifting along the shore of consciousness with a twitching leg and drool up his right cheek; its human counterpart bore the burden of his redemption, squeezing the cotton in his grasp to draw his attention elsewhere. "It's been a while since I heard you say that."

He was a man of honour with his promise as binding and steadfast as his devotion to his people, but this was blasphemy in its veritable form; plausible under status quo and unforgivable all the same. "It's been a while since I've meant it." Sparda craned his neck while he was distracted, taking his time in kissing his temple while his senses were in transitory hibernation; it was too great a chance to pass up, full beam in tow as he gazed on fierce orbs of ocean blue and dropping his moment of glee in favour of immature bewilderment, stepping back for a better view of the man and fanning himself with his hands in bogus hyperventilation, flicking the switch on 'high school fangirl mode' at his father's giddiness under pressure. "Oh shut up." Dante was so engulfed in his performance he nearly missed the cutest expression on his father's face, rolling his eyes skyward unable to catch a break in strictness or sincerity with either of his children.

The double act grew flustered harmoniously, and Sparda abandoned any hope of a straight face. Dante didn't have one to begin with. "Does Lars still scare you?"

There was viable and ridiculous, and his inhumane physique proved the latter to anyone in doubting conflict with themselves; daily greens and exercise honed his physical condition to an unreal peak redundant to his heritage and wardrobe scarcely kept together by what Dante suspected to be crying buttons, lamenting their longevity across the expanse of his chest. Each inhale was a coin toss, the buttons themselves holding their breath and constricting their purpose with everything they had pending reprieve on the exhale, wiping their brow for the rinse and repeat for the next fifty thousand six hundred times on average. The thought in isolation was silly and there was no place present for anything but a fantastic reason behind his fear. "He ripped Lucy's head off and paraded it around the streets for a whole day. You tell me."

That counted. The hands on his lean waist were an I-told-you-so; the cocked eyebrow and squared jaw was a test to find another to top it. "Shit."

He chuckled. "Language, Dante."

The hybrid returned his glare. "Fuck?!"

He chuckled harder, expecting nothing less from the man wearing a triumphant smile from ear surprisingly pleased with his comeback. "That's my boy."

* * *

True Vergil took a long, slow walk across the bedroom and stairs, each step growing heavier than the last the closer he ventured to the locked door, hearing feint classical chord progression playing softly from his laptop speakers. He stood in front of the door and gave a light knock, three careful raps on the knuckles gentle enough to not arouse more of the volatile fiend lying dormant in the boy, playing on the white powdered lines of his unpredictable mood swings. No reply or invitation came after the second bout, his heartbeat rising and falling with every tap on the aged oak doing excellent in remaining superglued to his office chair. "Nero, I know you're awake."

The music on the other side died a notch at the crescendo; he didn't have the audible range of his guardians. "I know that." Flat; devoid of interest to get the juices flowing. "What do you want?"

Vergil saw his shadow shift in his seat, turning his full concentration to the twin. "You mind opening the door?"

"You mind me asking why?"

"I'd prefer to not talk to a door."

"I'd prefer not seeing anything resembling your brother, which doesn't look so great for you." The shadow moved once more, reaching for a pen and biting at its plastic tip. "What do you want?"

For someone doused in the virtue, his impatience grew the more Nero crawled under his skin and nagged the nerves between bone and tissue. "I want you to open this door."

He exhaled through his nose. "No can do, Dante. I'm really not in the mood for this. I'd appreciate it if you'd go away."

The hybrid skewed his face at the half-assed attempt, flipping onto his back at the portion of wall to his right, comfortably propping his right leg onto it while his hands found his pockets, relishing the cool against the whole of his back. The human had every right to be pissed after what had happened, and knowing what he was doing wouldn't yield a favourable result he would continue on and follow through as that was what his brother would do, leaving on the premise of all hurt feelings mended by honest kindness and the promise of an unhealthy ration of his desired sugary override for a total system reset – sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, and Vergil ticked the complimentary box instead of the primary driving force, unable to distance himself from the sticky mess with his brother and only pushing it aside for the present situation and the hope of meagre fortune in any shape or form. "Fine. I'll wait here until your conscience catches up with you," he said, dropping his head onto his right shoulder for the slightest of movement.

Sure enough, the wheels to his chair squealed as he stood, strolling to the edge of the boundary of thin ice beyond his bedroom door; he opened it slowly making little noise with the lock, blocking entry with one hand on the oak and another on its frame. "I'm on a schedule, make it quick."

The position was advantageous for the boy, his main features facing a different direction and not fixated on him… like he always did. "For what?"

"Brooding." Nero reached the bridge of his nose, pressing the available resolve in his fingers along his cheekbones just in case. "Out with it."

Dante didn't move. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You've never done that."

His head fell to the floor. "Vergil pulled a number up there. After everything you told me-"

He dropped his arm to swing next to him, rolling his eyes at the blip in his judgement minutes too early, rewinding the conversation in his head and mentally slapping the effort that may end up being another waste of breath. "Doesn't matter now."

Dante's head shot up, fighting instinct and staying in place by the wordless demand. "What do you mean?"

"He said what he wanted to say. In front of you and Sparda. That was humiliating. That was dehumanising. I can't feel anything but hate for him. So let me get to bed in time to sleep this off before he comes to me in the middle of the night and we have sex and carry on like none of this ever happened because that's what he does." Nero rubbed his eyes, massaging life into his face as it drooped at having to admit it out loud, thinking it would make him feel less of a ball of elastic bands and more a log of cotton wool, not tightly wound and destructive that would set them countless steps back in the subtle progress they were making in such a short span of time. With every blink he saw the dialogue flash under his eyelids, ash rising from the ends of the letters after their burn into his psyche, and no manner of relieving the sensation in fear they would heal and stay there until something worse replaced it. "If you'll please excuse me, I have four hours to rid myself of this hatred or I bite his dick off." Nero was beginning to feel it, looking to the kitchen to evade the splitting image of his targeted hatred to his left. "Are you done? Have you evaluated that I'm in perfect working order-"

"Don't take this out on me." His voice was nothing more than a deep whisper repelled by every surface in the vicinity and bouncing around the lounge in a painful echo amplified by the dim lighting streaming in from outside. "I know you're upset, but there must be a reason-"

"There is and I'm not in the best mindset to hear it." He toyed with the brass handle, locking and unlocking the mechanism to keep his hands from visible shaking in rage. "All he had was a name. I just wanted more than a name."

The older twin pushed his body off the wall and was hit full blast with the face that correctly summed up seventeen emotions no human should ever go through at once. "I understand-"

"You don't." And that's where he drew the line, his glazy blue eyes too much to handle in his rocky state; Nero stepped further into his room and swung it shut, hand on the key ready for the small twist to his wrist that cut him off from anything outside his four walls. "Goodnight, Dante."

He stopped it an inch short, getting his fingers jammed amid the wood. "No."

The boy knew, yet couldn't. Not now; not for a while. "Yes," he said, tenderly detaching his fingers so he could return to isolation. "Please." Deplete of energy for any disagreement, Nero nonverbally pleaded with the younger face to let go and give him this one time to live up to the stereotype of his age and be left alone with unrealistic scenarios and thoughts that played out according to his mood, burrowing deeper into a hole he continued to dig with each new script and repeatedly reburying himself to no avail, stuck in a loop until he became his impassive self once more, standing behind that sturdy brick wall he built in the middle of nowhere on barren wasteland that once brimmed with life and hope. Dante would comply just this time; there was no chance his brother wouldn't stand for it otherwise, and he hoped to never see that expression ever again, getting out of view and out of his internal memory before the lock turned behind him. There was a dull thump on the other side as Nero rested against it, restively beginning his loop from where he left off, never thinking he'd revisit the scraps so deep in his mind they were close to being forgotten – who was he kidding.

* * *

He set his laptop to hibernate after successfully failing attempts at slumber, rolling around like a loaded rectangular dice with ants in his pants and too many questions on his mind to properly relax his body into submission, missing the one-way train to dreamland in favour of his mixed emotions toward the two hunks of demon flesh breathing the same air under the same roof; he eventually got fed up with tracing jumping sheep on his smooth darkened ceiling and started up the device an hour after initially shutting it down too pissed off for any new recipes or techniques to sink into his thick skull. He booted up his last resort, and still the possessed animatronics did nothing to spook him into turning off his desk lamp and effectively shutting down his brain to stasis, using the fewer working bits to get undressed and slink under the covers. The heavy, artificial light certainly helped his twenty-twenty vision blink itself into tiredness, barely able to stand when his room shrouded in complete dark, waving his hands like a maniac and taking small steps to his bathroom to quickly splash his face before the eight-hour nap meant to be broken solely by the rays of the morning sun. The cool, on his skin seared his boiling face, cascading down every sharp angle of his features and pulling with it every last ounce of fatigue he had worked up to, collecting and draining as futile as the accomplishment he had previously obtained. He enjoyed punishing himself, didn't he: pushing his senses to the limit and to what avail? Perfecting flight only to land straight after, crossing his legs on the rough tarmac and chaining his feet to the ground? Nero watched the droplets race in his mirror, falling with it any chance of easing out of the walking contradiction he became whenever Vergil plonked himself on the black 'X' of subject matter and thus adjusting his robust system of beliefs to suit the demon's mistakes. Saying 'no more' was easier said than done; distancing was fruitless, regardless of his mental strength; hating was beyond the borders of his character – well within the confines of his bluff, however – and so began day one and the list of problems since.

Nero puffed his cheeks and sighed at his reflection, turning the taps wider to soak his hair for good luck and wiping the locks down with a hand towel and straight to his bed which he knew wouldn't possibly work at a time like this. He walked out with a clear path, too sleepily riled to look a further inch to his left of the bed, merely hearing his door being locked by a tiny click as its signal. Vergil faced forward after securing them inside, his heart racing against his bare chest and his legs surging in an anxious flurry under his grey sweatpants. Much of the water fell from his wet strands and soaked into the shoulders and trickling beneath his loose-fitting tee, teasing the elastic of the matching boxer shorts that usually found its way comfortably to the floor after he settled in the body-shaped dip in his mattress. The younger twin watched his three steps, tentatively blocking Nero's exit from reality and altering to an obstacle he had to face before peace could ensue. "It was open, so I thought I'd let myself in."

The boy mechanically softened at the voice out of habit, the sight of the hybrid playing with the final dregs of willpower he talked himself into having. "I was about to go to bed."

"Are you tired?"

Nero followed his glowing blues over his body awakening every joint with a look of curiosity. "It's late, so I'd rather not-"

"Give me a chance to explain."

Vergil stared ahead, his intensity catching him completely off guard and hitting him in the fiery pits of his belly where he allowed his steeled, freezing instinct to extinguish all fires caused by his molten gaze. "You don't have to." He ran the towel through his hair once more and hung it over his chest of drawers. "You revoked your right to speak to me on the roof; I thought that much was clear to you."

True Dante trod closer, watching him intently with flickers of wrath and desire flashing in tandem that broke the serenity of the ocean contained within his glassy orbs. "Nero, I-"

"I said-" he continued on his path, cruel objective in his sights, "I don't want to hear it."

"I have to tell you something-"

"And you had your chance. It's my turn now," said the boy, completing the deep purple bubble expanding with their growing libidos and popping as the signal to begin the arduous task of love-making through the tension of their rooftop squabble. "So you can shut up and let me do what I have to do to make myself feel better."

The demon couldn't be bothered resisting, letting the boy lift his arms onto his broad set shoulders as he shimmied nearer to the frame he devoured in half a heartbeat, holding his enthralled gaze like their lives depended on it. "This won't help-"

"What… the fuck… did I just say?" His leg found its way between the hybrid's, his palm flat on his torso making its way down the unholy sculpted miracle of his chest. "You've finally earned the right to remain silent, and you're messing it up by wanting to explain yourself. But I know you're not here for that; be quiet so I can give you what you want and you can be on your merry way."

Nero toyed with the grey drawstrings, tugging the frayed end until the perfect bow came undone, grazing the long swelling appendage snuggled beside his left thigh and feeling a seeping tip that brought a spiteful grin to his face, yanking the remainder of his restraints free. "That's not what I want."

He laughed, void of amusement. "Who are you kidding? Do you know how hard you are?" His smile dropped slowly, standing on his tiptoes to grab Vergil's bottom lip and pull it towards him, floating back to his feet flat on his carpet and attacking within range, charring the twin's mouth and tongue in a kiss too violent to set the pace for the rest of the night. "Of course you do." He did it again, passionately sucking on the burned spots and sensing his partner sink into the motions of his punishment, running his hands through his silver hair as they fumbled to a levelled plane of pleasure, the taller man giving into his spell with his hands on either side of the boy's jaw pressing unexpectedly deeper into their nightly frolic. "I'm right here, Vergil; take me. Let's get this over and done with so I can go back to hating you."

There was no denying the determined complexity in the once familiar pair of eyes staring back, serious and superior and unlike anything Dante has ever seen – all he could think of was his brother and how badly he needed to see this shade of him blazing in one thousand suns of unbridled clarity, seizing all of him in a profound glare that made his blood run cold in panicked excitement. Vergil's grasp slunk to his lower back, single-handedly fingering the hem of his flimsy shirt and removing it with ease while the other stayed put in the dimples in his lower back, leading him hips first and gracing his moment of control with equal vigour pulsating on his own. He threw the material across the room and Nero turned his head with the inhumane momentum of his poor item of clothing, knowing better than to turn his attention elsewhere and doing it anyway in the instant Vergil's tongue made his eyes flutter closed, contentedly dwindling down the grave he dug hours ago. "You asked for this."

There was nowhere left to run but inside his own deteriorated mind. "I did-" his breath hitched in the back of his throat at the teeth nibbling his ear, sanctimoniously feeling himself under the thin silk layer of his pyjamas. "-and you're gonna give it to me."

The younger demon took his cue and detached his actions from his conscience, ready in every tone of crimson to give his victim what he asked for: the twin stuck his teeth into his neck, enveloping him in a bone-crushing vice to teleport them both onto the huge bed, mashing Nero between his mattress and his demonic frame while lingering in the crook and getting him to relax as much as humanly possible, a coin flip away from completely handing command over to the body's honesty and familiarity with their positions and emotions in play; Dante snaked in the gap, propped on his elbows and wreaking havoc from a distance, giving him space to breathe – and he damn sure needed to – with synchronicity in his upper and lower halves, arching his back and grinding on their engorged happy places with a smile biting deeply into his jaw as it dropped to accompany the sensations knocking his pelvis off centre, a glossy moan gracing the air with sparks under his eyelids in the form of swift justice to his initial arcane plea. "I'm going to ask again."

He felt it all, stopping himself to look Nero at his lustful eyes, tracing the outline of flames around his soul blistering the tattered ends of doubt of his conscience. His lips were delectably swollen, the corner of his mouth hidden between two sets of perfect teeth. "No need," he said, wiggling lower onto his pillow with widened legs, running his hands over the length of his naked back as a good effort to soak it all in before he was split in half. "You're gonna do this whether you like it or not…" Nero sharpened his blade for the final blow, trailing his fingertips lightly over the hills of his triceps. "…or can't you?" True Dante's cuteness shone through in a tiny smirk, fully aware of the looming seconds and the magnitude to his words, weighing his head onto the boy's chest and laughing at the boundary of his saving grace. "You can replicate your brother in every other way but not in the bedroom, right Dante?"

And there it was: forty three gruelling hours and nothing to show for it but awkwardly strolling through the last stretch of time in gauche fashion. The younger twin breathed in his scent, a pungent, zesty synthesis of his own desire and a sprinkle of his brother's overtly reserved carnality as intoxicating as he remembered, turning his entire body a flushed pink in recognition of the body on top of his. "Great; I can give up."

Nero's heart stopped for five seconds, joining in with the chuckles at his ribcage. "I'm right, aren't I?"

To him it was a pure guess as farfetched as he'd allow himself to go with no place in his mind for it to be the real deal, suspecting the nonsensicality of his thinking that took him to the only illogical explanation for their behaviour without the tinge of possible truth behind the scenes. "Since when?"

Nero got comfy underneath him, running his fingers through the frisky swirls of liquid silver, digging deep and generously nicking his soft scalp as Dante squirmed for a better angle to support his fine handiwork. "Figured something was fishy since this morning. Maybe late last night moving into this morning." The hybrid purred, sending vibrations through his belly and to a more sacrilegious places. "This was my last guess after a stomach bug, midlife crisis, or a lost bet."

All of the above were simpler to explain and plausible by their performance. But one thing in particular bugged him; his expectations were shattered, lying too still and relaxed with a content smile up at the ceiling and cutely biting his lip to not giggle at the squiggly animals Dante was tracing on his chest. "You don't sound mad."

"I'm not. I realise now that things would have been far more difficult if I was told from the beginning. Although I am pissed I couldn't push either of you to the limit of admitting it yourselves. Worked out swimmingleeee-"

Dante dug his chin firmly in his sternum, purposely dropping it into the bone while changing his point of reference, dragging the deep grunt until he calmed down and stared at him some more, giving himself away for the thousandth time as he folded his hands over the spot of shock and rested on it, watching him keenly. "So… everything on the roof…" He piped up, giving the stink eye to his arms in mid-air on route to the back of the boy's head. "I didn't tell you to stop."

It was so Vergil of him he couldn't resist – their love for head scratches was sharedly unparalleled. "Fifty-fifty," he said, resuming his duty and starting at the area behind his ears. "I had no idea your father was going to be there and I capitalised on it, but I was legitimately hurt. I couldn't have rehearsed that even if I tried. But I'm quite amazed at how well you both held together." Nero smoothed the stray hairs at the top of his head, flexing his fingers on the sweet spots his partner enjoyed most. "I should apologise, but I don't feel like it."

Then why mention it in the first place? "You're a cruel man."

"The two of you have been pretending to be each other; I think I'm in the clear."

Vergil's shoulders shrugged. "Fair enough." He shuffled higher for a better suited vantage point. "We were sure that tomorrow things would be back to normal so it was just a matter of making it through the night." There was a hint of slight frustration as he tilted his head, shifting the position of Nero's right hand. "And it had to be me."

Nero shook his head, wafting a tuft of hair into his face that he couldn't get rid of. "It was you, but it also wasn't you."

What? Vergil slipped up? He got his big break? "What did he do?"

He angled his lips accordingly and tried blowing the piece away. Fail. "He has triggers-" Another breath, flopping in the opposite direction and now covering his line of sight. "Special spots-" The floof was having too much fun, evading every lungful with ease, "-that drive him nuts-"

Dante simpered at his struggle, slithering to a face to face ratio as he tucked the ill-behaving extension of quirkiness behind his ear and gently ghosting the precise coordinates on the boy's body, meriting a look of pride on his face while prodding the location of Vergil's clandestine weakness. "Here?"

It was so smooth Nero had to let it slide, spiteful at having to remind himself he was dealing with the wrong sibling. "Anything to confirm my suspicion was cause for action." His lopsided impishness caught him at his heartstrings, grinding his gears in conviction that he'd never see this version again; a few dewdrops in the saline solution used to clean the double-edged sword of accident, pining for the off chances after tonight that he'd have to drag from the side lines by the skin of his strident fangs. "You can't be a bad version of Dante to try and pull Vergil off; bad Dante is nicer than Vergil in general, and nice Vergil doesn't suit Dante. He pushed the envelope past the post office and delivered it to its location instead. You respect my space; he gave me none, because that's how close he thinks we are. And you covered up your words with well-timed distractions – something I know you're good at." He let that sink in for a second and the twin gave him a wink in confirmation; it didn't help at all. "He makes it a mission not to kiss me unless we're behind a padlocked door, and you couldn't give a shit because that's how you thought we were. He wouldn't do that regardless if the mood called for it." He licked his bottom lip, thinking of a time when it his mood didn't call for it – perhaps his self-control was a good thing. "You can't beat me when it comes to knowing both of you; I listen. I see. I had no clue that it would come in handy for a time like this. I will add here that there really is no way for the two of you to summon each other's weapons, so I'm dropping the mic right there."

Was he planning on giving that concept up? "He probably knows you know."

Nero kissed his forehead, flicking the visceral gesture with a strong finger. "Yet here you are."

"Here I am, trying to convince you that your anger for my brother is stronger than your raging, unstable hormones."

The demon peeled himself out of harm's way, climbing over his frame to sit on the edge of the mattress and planting his feet steadily on the ground to gain back his mind's equilibrium; 'out of sight, out of mind', he thought to himself, keeping the shifting weight from view should the other fifty percent of his bodily domination accidentally trip and fall between his legs. He wasn't too sure Nero would fight it either, judging by the leg that nudged the middle of his back to grab his attention as he stretched down the length of the bed. Dante could afford facing forward, seeing his hair towel as the best thing since sliced bread just to keep from looking at him. "Would you have done it?"

Hearing him say it was what the Vergil in him wanted to hear. "Done what?"

Nero bent his leg and rubbed his thigs together, crinkling the sheets for purposeful friction and a whole bunch of other reasons his head refused to compute. If Dante turned around right about now… "If I hadn't said anything, would we have slept together?"

Yes. The answer was a cold, hard, aggravating, positive, steamy, furniture-breaking yes. "Let's just say I have a duty to fulfil and leave it at that."

The human huffed and puffed, twiddling his thumbs on his bare chest as another extraordinary idea traversed the walls of his brain, escaping with a heavy sigh and bouncing around his enclosure like a Redbull after a single espresso all the way back through his toes and up to his belly, resonating in his stomach and mingling with other copiously dangerous things on the verge of risky, pejorative behaviour to top the cake on his cherry. "Vergil's body? Your technique?" Yep; the wrong head took the mic into its own hands and let loose the correct way. "That isn't a feat to be taken lightly."

Dante couldn't keep the smile from ruining his steely façade. "He'd be glad to hear that-"

"I literally gave up the best sex of my life for the need to be right."

Said by the consciously ruminating mess to his right. "Sucks to be a genius."

The twin stood on the cue of silence, cracking every restless bone in his body as he slowly walked to the exit. Vergil wouldn't allow him to go any faster than a snail's pace. "Where are you going?"

"Upstairs. To an uncomfortable bed in a bedroom with a pretty ceiling. I'm sure it was strategic."

Nero shot up ninety degrees too soon, draped under mouth-watering black cotton reaching out in time to catch his right pocket. "Stay here," he said, coyly sitting him down on the spot. "Lie with me."

He sat nonetheless, clicking both his shoulders back and fortuitously giving Nero a good look at the underworkings of his toned everything. "Oh no, what sleep could I get on this unbelievably soft bed?"

"Then make yourself comfortable. Not on your back though; Vergil can't sleep on his back." The boy threw the sheets to one side and moved next to him, dragging his perky posterior across the bed and onto his feet as quick as he could. Who knew why he was in such a rush. "I'm gonna grab some water-"

"WHEEEEN DID THAAAAAT HAPPEN?"

Dante caught an eyeful by mistake. "What? I always have water close to me-"

"When did you get naked?" His voice sent shivers down his spine; the good kind where he no longer needed his hand to open his bedroom door. "Do you know you're naked, Nero?"

Nero flipped the switch, turning on his heel for a wholesome double salute in his direction, straight spine included. "Reporting for duty, Captain Obvious!" He was feeling himself tonight, scrunching his nose and clenching his teeth, flexing his boyish charm in total dominance to the man quietly watching, looking him over like the delicious piece of A-grade meat he was and utterly satisfied for when his cut finally made its way into his mouth. Nero stalked to him, sneaking like he wasn't viewing the entire performance with a front row ticket; as if rehearsed a thousand times, they drew to one another like magnets in a snowstorm fitting together and seamlessly completing their two-piece age restricted puzzle – he stood between Dante's legs and waited for no signal, dipping his head and diving headfirst into Vergil's hot mouth where devastating hunger had met his match, the boy happily complying with a snippet of his imagination that had run wild earlier on. The twin was in no mood to play games after sticking out for so long – forty minutes max – wishing he couldn't claim responsibility for the possibilities churning in both their nether regions; he'd do it in the only way he knew how, clawing his way down Nero's back and subsequently pulling him deeper in mind and body, physically vicing him into his grip on his lower back and ass removing escape as an option for redemption. Dante moaned in his throat, ultimately shocked at his stupidity for preventing it from happening yet too engrossed in the human's mouth and tongue to give a shit about his fluctuating moral compass, recalling the fine print highlighted in neon green and heavy in expectation of such an outcome without the realisation of sheer bliss on the side, sinking deeper into his role the more Nero pushed him, cupping his jaw to save their peace of mind with a hard stamp of approval between their legs. The victim maintained his floating status as his Alpha plucked his sanity in its rightful place, blanking out at the delectable glaze he'd never get used to, mellifluous and dark with sweet malicious intent whilst he chewed on his plump lips in search of the boy's taste. One last pout grew on Vergil's lips and Nero obliged, granting him a lasting glitch of his probity on demand and sweetly sating his eagerness with focus and caution tasting like strawberry flavoured pop rocks. "Me and my big mouth."

The demon rested his ear on his heartbeat, getting two handfuls of excess lust embedded in his silver locks. "If you don't mind, it's taking everything in me to sit tight, so get wet somewhere else."

His words said one thing and his actions another, massaging his hip flexors all the way down to his hipbone; Dante's love for all things naked and Vergil's object of infatuation met delightfully in the middle with a stream of gentle smooches from his ribs to his belly button, effortlessly drifting across his velvety skin and biting along the ridges in his muscles. Nero instinctively stiffened at the spontaneous reaction, releasing power from the neck up and letting his head loll backward, calming his frantic lungs in search of a better grip on the frosty landscape. "Don't move."

The devil smiled against his stomach, wickedly nipping and licking the skin at his disposal. "Yes sir." Nero was finally convinced that his earlier statement hit the final nail in his coffin, breathing deeply at the fatally tempting combination teasing the edge of his mind's abyss with a blended cocktail of Vergil's vague shortcomings raising the bar significantly to meet his own standards of pleasure fulfilment. To both their detriment, he was sure, ensuring every second of it made through all seven firewalls to reach the padlocked iron-cast pot of gold at the end of his monochrome rainbow, committing the deceit and its aftermath to memory as his Hayley's Comet to never see or experience a second time. ' _Best sex of my life, huh?_ ' he thought; how much he despised the supplementary fantasy fall into that same hole right in front of him. "When are you planning on getting that water, Nero? I am trained to quench only one thirst."

He was too busy to notice the mess he made with Vergil's hair and utter joy flowing in his bloodstream at the scolding he wouldn't be getting this time around. "Dante, just let me enjoy this."

"You can enjoy this on your back if you just get your damn water alread-" He stopped, leaning away with a dubious expression. "What is happening to me?"

"Your brother is making his comeback."

No, that wasn't it; it could be, but if that were the case what earthly evidence was there to deny his true feelings for the boy? What in Hell's name and culture was he telling himself to convince him otherwise? With such a damaging reputation he sure was a softy for the naked specimen, a single digit captivating his jaw closer for a fourth kiss as enraged as the first. "He's a horrible person."

The poor human tingled all over, claiming his tongue in an effort to actually do what he said he would. "You're making this difficult."

"Then I'd say I'm channelling Vergil pretty well."

And so was his prompt to speed out of there, unlocking the obstacle hiding his sanity on the other side. "God, you're infuriating."

"Two for two," said Dante, winking to the milky perkiness exiting last out of the doorway.

The walk to the kitchen was cool and quiet – the best fourteen steps spent away from all the craziness possible under one roof – quickly trotting to the fridge for his one litre bottle of Fulvic water, roughly grabbing the black container and halting his hurried getaway at the light of the appliance shining on the stainless steel pot he knew he'd cleaned before going to Vergil's bedroom; the teen backtracked to the stove even more perplexed to see some leftover liquid chocolate at the bottom and tiny globs of cream swimming in the sweet lake of good decisions. He was certain it was emptied and spotless when he left the second time – now cold, not night-temperature freezing, he took it off the plate and scouted a cover to veil the sugar from their numerous friends on six legs or more, strolling with a conscience wiped clean and water in hand creeping to his own door, glimpsing a picture-perfect Vergil under the sheets staring at a blank ceiling looking for his soothing squiggles propped by his hands under his head. It was truly a beautiful thing, observing the slow breaths and blinks from the pale masterpiece merely biding his time in waiting for him to return, posing for the invisible artist seated behind the door. "I told you not to move."

"You also told me to make myself comfortable; technically, I obeyed both your commands."

"I also said not on your back."

He turned his head to the voice. "You took too long."

"You're impatient."

"You're still naked." The twin spun his body and braced his head on his elbow, keeping his eyes above the belt for safety. "Did you go all the way to the valley to collect that? You didn't do a great job cleaning it."

He lifted the bottle for a better look. "This is the brand, you potato."

Nero set the drink on his bedside cabinet, rolling his eyes at the audacity of the newfound confidence on display beneath his bedspread. The teen sat with his back toward him, taking a big sip and filling his cheeks with the condemned beverage unsure of when his next chance of hydration may be. Tender kitten scratches graced his spine, an unexpected warm shiver shrouding his frame in gooseflesh from head to toe; he twisted over his right shoulder to see Vergil tapping the sheets next to him, holding the duvet open as invitation. "Come on, I know you're tired."

Resisting the face was futile. "I was trying to fake it best I could."

Dante watched him climb in with a heavy sigh; he couldn't tell if it was exhaustion or something else entirely. "Want me to make you some warm milk? I know where Vergil hides the honey…"

With a shake of his head, he guided the propped arm under his neck and burrowed into the protective pocket made by his blanket and the demonic body. "I'll doze off like this in no time, if that's okay with you?"

Typical: asking when the option of an answer was nowhere to be found. "I imagined much worse-" and after literal years of seeing it, Nero's stink eye got him between his own like a well-timed bullet of truth. "This IS my brother we're talking about. You can't hate fact." Dante enveloped him in mesmerizing warmth, wrapping him in a cocoon of sleepy thoughts and tucking in the blankets behind him, cursing the cold breeze should it dare think of sneaking anywhere in their direction. "Is there something I can do to help?"

That caught his attention. "As Dante or Vergil?"

"Both," he whispered, narrowing his eyes to figure a random guess far beyond his comfort zone without having to rely on the tolerant blue beast purring inside of him. "There must be something."

The intimacy of their embrace got him wine drunk on the abruptness, hiding in the many crooks of the hybrid's collarbone and inhaling the goodness of his scent, settling in the darkest pits of his belly to gnaw its way outward and crumble what little resolve he had left. "There is, but…"

The demon feigned mild heartbreak at the shell of his ear. "You don't trust me? You don't think I can do a good enough job as my brother?"

On the contrary, and saying it out loud made him feel slightly bad at having to admit, made more confusing by looking directly into Vergil's insatiable blues. "I'm afraid you'll do better."

His deep voice cracked in honesty and a dash of humour. "And right you are, Nero. Now spill – whatever happens here stays here. My lips are sealed-"

"That's the least of my worries." The human softly silenced the tamed monster with a lone finger, forgetting for an instant this wasn't Vergil he was arguing with.

The younger twin licked his lips wetting the seemingly innocent digit. "Then how about this? Don't tell me and do it nonetheless."

Was he serious? He couldn't tell at the obvious frown plastered on his entire body. "I can't do that to you."

Dante couldn't understand the genial laugh that took over him. "Yes, you can; I'm practically asking you to suck his dick!"

Nero's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "WHY ASK ME TO SAY IT IF YOU KNEW THE ANSWER?!"

Vergil mirrored him. "I'M RIGHT?" He took his turn to laugh, sounding completely out of place and concurrently memorable to his ears and coming to the realisation that he'd never heard Vergil laugh before – the proper one stemming from that pit of amusement he'd long time discarded like the one now, appropriately fitting their bedroom antics and the persona beneath his twin's mask and demeanour. "I know you both too well."

He read the boy like a book and always could, filling in the gaps of his frantic thinking when he didn't want to and becoming better at math at the same time, accurately depicting Nero's contextual four as the equation rose to the surface more and more the years went by until his mind became contaminatedly mature sans further input from the older men who took care of him. Dante still thought it fun to continue the gag, occasionally poking the proverbial embarrassing bubble with his own wanton proficiency, little to less interference on the appropriacy scale – like now: he earlier called it his duty and that was his wording to fall back on, flipping the switch of his cognizance to the other end of the rational stick and bending it clear of its periphery to suit their circumstance. Using his devilish influence he lured him in, a mischievous grin appearing as their lips met to addle his concentration, voraciously kneading their tongues in his mouth at an irregular pace with constant force, deliberately taking his time in devouring his fortitude and puréeing what was left of his mental functioning; keeping his mind and mouth occupied, Dante clawed at both his head and back to bring him closer, brusquely raking on the flawless skin to deepen the trance and sense of urgency in their luscious act of sin. He moved quickly, snaking around the boy's shoulder blade to meet his chest and up again to his side, sliding across the dip and perfect contour of his lean waist, locating the little pop of his bone peeping from under the tight skin to descend to the bigger protrusion below his abdomen, brazenly enfolding Nero's penis in his supple, needy grasp, constricting at his base to stimulate his arousal quicker and into the correct outlet. His prey broke the kiss, immediately looking down at the indecent contact, shunning his body for not being able to deny the passion filling his member to the brim. "What are you doing?"

What the hell did he think? "Getting you in the mood."

Nero hardened as he spoke, struggling to calm his frenetic to not reflect the inner workings of his body, falling harder and harder for the trap as the man continued to pump him relentlessly applying sufficient pressure to motivate blood flow in small dissolute dosages potently earning a shameful moan from the boy, strained and panting against the exploitive touch from the sensual creature; Dante, cruelly, held his gaze in place to torment him some more, peeling back his foreskin to expose the dense head swelling with his juices and circling his palm over its weeping tip, squeezing part of his soul to kindly spout through and coat his fingertips in liquid form of his milky excitement. Nero felt the signature burn of another orgasm developing between his legs, building up a dangerous intemperance that could rival the twin's luxury at eliciting such responses from him, laying his sweaty palms on his broad chest in a dwindling attempt to get him to stop. His messy self-indulged expression sang right with Dante, twisting his head for a deep, aching kiss soaked in the imprecision of their off-the-cuff covet, sucking on the boy's tongue as he surrendered another complaint to his incessant game. "I don't have the strength to stop you-"

"Don't remember asking you to," he said, liberating his grasp and lacing the creamy substance around his mouth, chewing on a single finger and licking it clean until satisfied with its taste, inserting another for good measure to please his other half screaming for more. The hybrid shifted onto his back and spread his legs, crossing over both their bodies to grab his available arm and slink it underneath the waistband of his grey sweats, curling his clutch around the pulsating organ on the brink of its jump toward insanity, caressing his wrist with light swirls and an encouraging look to boost his conviction. "I want you to see what you do to him. No restraints, no self-discipline; I'm going to let loose because you deserve to see how much he fights this pleasure." He got comfortable, lining up his pelvis with a height to befit the one on payback duty. "I trust you know what to do with that."

Nero massaged his shaft as confirmation. "I do."

That got him a smile, a sweet one that could veer beyond its intent as quick as the human's wrist, beaming in the lack of light for its insurmountable possibilities of deception and its quality at the hands of the brother who sought nothing in holding back, able to give the muscles a fair workout before they return to their master who'd perfected one facial movement and stuck to it. Nero unconsciously turned his head to look, finding it being swivelled again by a glowing stare of rampant, nefarious lust gone haywire in the bounds of his glossy cerulean. "Do not take your eyes off me."

This was no longer an elaborate ruse, a cruel trick played on his mind by his mind at the impossibility of the reality in front of him: Dante really was in this body and he truly was proffering a deeper look into Vergil's interconnected anthill of hidden emotional construction buried beneath the layers of sand assembling on the surface and, in turn, forbidding that honesty to pull through and translate properly, physically responding to only the strongest of stimuli that chip away at the established cracks he'd worked hard on, slow progression that aided a careless slip of the tongue and came crumbling down over them all to rebuild from scratch; it would take more than a sodden towel to have Nero chuck the prospect across a room, too young and mulish to bother letting go and opting to persevere through the mood swings and tight-lipped demeanour. Dante knew this, a probable explanation as to why Vergil was splayed for Nero to do as he pleased with the side order of a gaping mouth and throat and no inhibitions to stop the bugger from obeying his bodily needs just this once. If he could see a splash of what he did to the demon… Shit. But he couldn't let his wits stray; he would see soon enough what- "Hey…" Nero zeroed his focus once more, shaking the web spun by his own desires. "You good?"

All he got in response was a deft nod, a no-nonsense tell upon discreet activation that he now meant business with poison-laced clarity glossing over a fatal degree of concentration, leaning in for one last conscious decision – the hybrid was more than happy to rid himself of his labouring rationality that had already buckled itself in the backseat, closing his eyes and allowing himself to be dragged into his brother's footsteps. He pulled away as Nero began, laying his head against the pillow and keeping his ominous glare while the teen squeezed more life into the solid chunk of girth accurately depicting his engorged arousal: the rushed blood flow cramped inside the organ shot it rod-stiff to the bland ceiling, making it easier for the boy to watch the stoicness slowly fade like the wax of a melting crayon dipped in the fires of Hell, multi-coloured lava altering the devotion to his tactic driving him to search for more illusory vibrance in a two-shaded connection bound by their abilities to mix and match, crafting entirely new unnamed creations as vindication to their spoilt selves, daring the rest of humankind to best their potential as small as their minds may be. Dante's breathing turned hysterical with the harder and faster force, twisting his wrist at the apex of Vergil's sensitivity and surveyed in awe as the beast begun his slow climb to his peak, looking deep into his orbs as the first thread snapped and escaped him in a hot air balloon of frustration quietly floating away in anticipation of the one soon to follow. Nero pumped him without prediction, changing his pace and pressure in experimentation to the limits of his satisfaction, and equitably so did he hear the demon whimper, drawing air to fuel the scorch in his unconstrained loins as he sunk into the pillows soundlessly pleading with a rigid fist to push beyond the perimeters of the box he played safe in, dragging an entrenched moan through clenched teeth to call the dirtier, immoral, sinful version he knew sat in a corner with meandering eyes prodding at the cling wrap foolishly keeping him in place; it called for one jab in the ribs as potently compelling as the expression on Vergil's features curved in pleasure at the onset of his release bubbling in Nero' grasp, nine good thrusts away of his chest succumbing to pure decadence and relief, arching in tune with his orgasm that lay exposed on his chiselled physique. The boy agreed in kind, sadistically clumping his fringe and jerking his head backward elongating the rest of his six foot frame, pulling his skin tight in all respective happy places, groaning at the simultaneous tug at both ends of his bodily mass and clasping the sheets in reply, holding the richness of his demise close to his flustered ribcage as Nero scaled up for a better view, sucking in Dante's exhale while he seesawed from the pain and blinking his vision to normal with an off-white sear below the belt that was bafflingly pleasant, licking the right corner of his loose mouth before it snuck into his cheek and giving him that menacingly beady eyed mien signalling his arrival and fondly touching the back of the teen's neck to maintain the ever-present glare leading to his ultimate climax. The devil nodded furiously, bucking his hips under the sheets for the micro thrusts on his ridge and the spread of Nero's palm on his soft head, pinching the flesh of his foreskin before delivering the final blow. "Just like that," he hissed, using the last if his mental extremities to push to the finish line, and it was all they hoped it to be: he bared his fangs as he drove a flash of unwavering strength along the patient organ, moving fast from beginning to end and back again in a tumultuous vortex of agony and nirvana served the way Vergil liked – on heat and impulsive enough to be faithful to the deed a few seconds on. The younger twin relaxed into the mattress calmly beckoning the boy's face closer and haughtily snaked his tongue over his swollen lips, mistiming a bruising kiss by the millisecond it took his penis to deliver its end of the bargain aimed straight at his own chest, weeping praise for the literal handwork Dante tweaked as best suited for both dynamics inside the shell; the same man who grappled at nothing as the feeling overwhelmed his senses, stemming from the tips of his toes and pulling every ounce of energy in reserve, constricting his muscles in a beautiful bend off the bed digging his hands in the sheets at his side and hovering a hair's width apart from the self-satisfied smugness decorating Nero's ego. His orgasm impelled him back into place, nestling in the dent made by his form in his momentary euphoria.

Like that was sufficient for the grip to cease. "How was that?"

Happiness with a tang of biting nostalgia: Dante liked it a lot. "What kind of question is that?" He reached over to grab the duvet, utilising one swift motion to reveal his throbbing bulk in a careful vice and a tummy covered in creamy treacle resembling the dribs trickling from his pleasure centre. "Look what you made me do, Nero." The devil stuck his thumb under the tip and strung it between two of his fingers, looping the acrid taste around his tongue and swallowing quickly – all the talk of the pineapple saga and none of it weaned itself into the frenzy. "Now let me think-" He lay exposed, pursing his lips for his best attempt at a thinking face, "-what would Vergil do after such becoming abuse?"

"Nobody said I was finished." He sounded amused, hurt almost, that Dante would suggest that be the end; a lush peck and off he was to the other end of the bed, shifting the duvet to reveal the fullness of Vergil's straining build. "Up," he barked, hooking his fingers at the elastic and tugging as the twin raised his pelvis and tossed the aberrant fibres to the closet side, falling on all fours with his mouth in proportion to the ripened sex. He stuck out his tongue, eyes peeled on the intrigue casting a shadow on Vergil's gorgeous face while a drop of hot saliva greeted his meatus. "I have to crosscheck the intel with my mouth – research purposes, I trust you understand."

The pair of legs opened wider. "I do."

"Nothing you won't do for extra credit, right Dante?" Nero, far gone from any reality apart from his direct line of sight, rubbed up his sides and slid down with his stable reach, taking the swelled tip into his mouth and twice sucked on it virulently, prying parts of his liquid sanity from their seats in the waiting room earlier than their allotted times. It left his lips with a loud pop; it left Dante's lips in a husky whine as more blood rushed to the scene of the heinous crime.

The demon regretted looking into the space below, his counterpart harbouring a truly demonic essence as he whipped his hair and it obeyed for its safety, settling flat onto his stomach and curling his arms round Vergil's thighs at the meatiest point. "That isn't an insult if I'm the one on the receiving end doing absolutely noth-"

"I'm gonna need you to shut up now." A blatant, sharp whisper Dante would choose to defy only with a clear path to an exit; the small head of hair dipped lower on the mattress and deliberately licked the raphe nice and slow, tightening his grip at the hint of ached movement coming from above. Alternating soft and hard upward strokes met his skin, left to right over the taut pull of his balls beneath his tongue, lathering the weighted urge he could feel take a walk of pride to his shaft. Individually claiming their due, Nero friskily bounced them around his humid mouth, pressing them against the bridge for that tiny grumble in the back of Vergil's throat informing him of the susceptible missed performance if he kept going. Like clockwork the younger brother whined breathlessly, digging his hands into the boy's hair and elevating him gently above the heightened sensitivity, angling his head to the base of the painful hardness hurrying the foreplay to the bare minimum for the last string of fate to be strummed in a note so harmonious it rivalled the piercing shriek brimming in his lungs. "Doesn't look like I have much time."

He had jokes, did he? He really would stoop that low albeit the truth. "Take all you need; I'll make this difficult for you."

He went back to slurping the skin in-between, audibly enjoying the man's attempt at holding back his molten liberation. "And how are you gonna do that?" Deep, droning nonchalance and changed focus never suited Nero so damn well. "You're too close to turn anywhere. I need to drag this out for as long as you'll let me."

"And why is that?"

"You tell me…" Without warning Nero smiled wide mocking the obvious silly query, plunging tongue first onto his member and sliding down the stiffness with ease, keeping his lips and teeth at the pulsing base until Dante found it within himself to complain about the pressure as he pushed the tip as far as it could go, swallowing in regular intervals to massage his shaft; the human claws dug into the tingling skin on his thighs adding varied texture to their expertise, unintentionally laughing at the expanding blockage in his oesophagus and sending welcomed vibrations down every nerve, resounding in the demon's chest with a thoughtful, intensely passionate moan echoing through to his toes – the twin saw fit to grab the ends of the pillow at his head, ready to rip the poor thing to shreds should his stout frame throw in the rumpled towel constituting his soul. A miniscule tear formed directly under his head as the boy clamped on with his teeth, moving up little by little in a fixed jaw and otherworldly glare of ill-intent and utter joy until the ridge, moulding his mouth for the peaking flesh to endure a harder bite than its longer equivalent. "A little bit longer, Dante; can you do that for me?"

The danger moved away entirely, replaced by one hand and the lingering tension in the air that had a single rocky and bumpy route to follow; the devil looked to the ceiling and caught his bottom lip amid his teeth, bracing every stroke of the limb having far too much fun at his own expense in conjunction with Nero's unpredictable mouth and skill at his base, going in circles of all sizes to reach every inch of his penis methodically bringing the bigger man to his knees void of breathing space or capacity. He treated the tip as a lollipop, teasing the rim with light flicks of his tongue before sucking down on it; twisting his wrist along the rigid consequence of his arousal while his head bobbed, taking him deeper into his throat until wholly encased once more, resuming his initial position for the final stretch Dante would barely see through ahead of voicing his resonating approval to be heard by the other presence in the household. For all he knew true Vergil was listening attentively and perchance by accident, hearing his own voice cry out in insoluble bliss unbeknownst to the source of it all. He finally caved in to his ruin, properly entwining his fingers in the white hair ghosting his tender inner thighs, mildly clutching the strands owing to his inability to gage his own strength in the degree of numbness in his digits. Dante was a huge, irrevocably insatiable mess growling into the air and steeling his grasp as his erection struck the best of the nightly breeze shining in saliva while Nero tackled his lower belly, biting in a straight line from his navel guiding his bodily attention back to its purposed concentration. "God, this is killing me."

"I can't be too obvious, can I?" He blew on the glistening shaft. Because he could.

The thin ice barrier protecting Dante's resilience and metier was leisurely giving way, random spots covered in snowflake-esque cracks all joining together for one full jolt to his core to shatter it completely. "I know you asked me to shut up, but…" Another spark pierced his subconscious, his wall growing smaller with every new screenshot branded in his mind. "You need to hurry this up."

It was now a blazing popsicle, warranting a scrumptious lick from top to bottom and all around. "Why?" There was no way to stop him other than to encourage, raking the snowy mane behind his ears for a faceful of unadulterated desire like he'd never seen, pounding away with a fatal grin and gleaming canines. "Vergil's never usually on his back, so this really is for research. Besides, you're a tougher cookie than he is. And as much as I want to cut to the chase, you're driving me crazy. My head won't let me move on until you come in my mouth."

A mellow snap of the remaining thread could be heard down the street; the devil sat on his elbows on his last moments of sanity, adjusting to a more comfortable view of the rampage between his legs. "Then I strongly suggest you open wide, dear."

Off Nero went to claim his apt last laugh, lodging the protrusion passed its cut-off point and moaned sombrely, earning a deserved, gruffer rebound from above; his aim of observation failed beautifully, crashing into the mattress and following instinct to regain the clumps of silver and pull pitilessly, squeezing his head into a snugger, unexplored portion that permitted the fireworks display to set off prematurely, gasping longer breaths in the same rhythm of Nero's bobbing head. Yes, he was close, so damning the idea of the past fifty minutes getting him to his pinnacle and saddened to see it end in the most glorious way imaginable: the boy freed his clutch and began clawing down his belly, digging his fingers roughly into the soft skin and slowly dragging to meet his mouth, feeling the slight compressions of his thighs against his ears and scrambling to all fours for impact sake, positioning his hands in the crook of the twin's leg and yanking them upward, hounding every morsel of orgasm to violently spout into his throat, pressing harder for the few ignorant drops to have no option save for joining their brethren and exit without struggle. Nero counted three full squirts, sitting up and using his hands for numbers four and five to well peacefully in the dip of his tongue, and number six with two hands like a baseball bat sharing the liquid as it cascaded down his unwinding stem. What a mistake it was to sneak a peek at his prey, frozen in a convoluted effigy of ecstasy and reprieve folding his forearms in a guiltless 'X' over his face, concealing what his feverish heart and lungs already spoke in volumes; beginning and ending in rapture in each sense of the word and reference, based purely on how obsessed he became with the emotion eroding his reasoning and wanting more of it constantly, sifting through the myriad of memories that came remotely close to the sensation flowing in his veins – he experienced first-hand what his brother refused to proclaim, soaking in the simplicity of their uneven breath and carnality laid bare on the sheets to feast on for a few more hours, the purest of them all locked behind a bolted vault with passcode, scanner, and other unnecessaries isolated to what lay inside coated in a thin layer of dust getting a wipe every so often, keeping its inevitability alive in anticipation of Nero smashing enough of the steel-reinforced concrete to dub a successful break-in and the end-all to his logical stupidity, saying those three words and letting it become part of the oxygen they would breath until his last.

Dante dropped his arms and inhaled as a sane man, reaching between his legs to encircle both of the teen's wrists, transferring his focus above by timidly placing then flat on his chest, seeing allaying innocence in the small gesture he prayed to convey without spoken word and disrupting the weight the moment was carrying. Nero lifted his dishevelled head in search for another explanation in his clear orbs and found none, obliging the vague instruction in his own peculiar way and licking the drenched torso to double his nutritional intake, making sure to not leave any trace of the demon's first undoing anywhere but his unstable memory. He crawled the rest of the way as if stalking the surrendering body laying calm underneath, sprawling on the chaos in his wake and immediately playing with his damp locks to lighten the worryingly serious tone he assumed took over his room. "Did I do something wrong?"

The twin took the bait, cupping his jaw for a second, sweeter taste of Vergil. "Why would you think that?"

"You're not talking."

His reputation succeeded him. "Do you think I have the energy to talk?"

"You have better stamina."

"In my hips, yes; my brain, not so much." Dante made mincemeat of Vergil's relentless perception, adding his flair to an innocuous, cordial smile as he returned the favour, gliding through the strands in fixated adoration with eyes as gentle as the ocean waves and deadly catastrophic in the wrong light, twinkling in fascination and flourishing satisfaction all the same. His ephemeral hiccup sent him forward, trapping Nero in a humble trance before he could see it coming; a two-dimensional kiss wrought in trepidation and fervour unlike anything the stars had witnessed, a perfect nightcap to get the juices flowing for a good, long sleep – at least that's what he thought it was, confusion opening his eyes as he was flipped onto his back and greeted by a click of the demonic tongue, tutting at the foolishness of the notion plastered on his tired face. The demon rested his head on the boy's shoulder, rousing the grasshoppers in his stomach with a trail up the left side of his neck, kissing the jugular and snuggling to the shell, nibbling his way to Nero's ear canal to make his intentions known. "My turn," he whispered, hot air encompassing a noxious calm on his tall form. "We both know Vergil won't allow me to leave this as is."

Dante held him firmly at the neck as they kissed, sensual, passionate, and voraciously sluggish doing his all to distract Nero whilst worming his massive frame deeper between his legs: moving onto his knees he spread the boy wider, sliding down his sweaty skin and settling his swollen tip in line with the human's only chance at exoneration in true form of his jittery unworded urges – he unwillingly fell into the trap, falsely termed, ensnared by the pressure on top and bottom in a licentious gloat scorching the demon's insides. "You don't have to."

He may have believed him if his hands weren't nurturing the concept of the added extra partially blocking his windpipe. "I want to," he mouthed, fortifying his angle of entry with his hands gripping his hips. "Walking away from this is a sin I won't be forgiven for."

"You'll be on your knees, so consider this your absolution too." How he managed the dry joke surprised him, getting all the giggles out while he still could. Dante tagged along and innately rubbed along his body, smiling meekly at his split deliberation in search for the most likely place for them to be kept, scanning the room completely before wanting to mentally slap himself. "What's wrong?"

The devil leaned in, aiming for the bottle on his cabinet. "Protection," he said softly, pulling the drawer to choose the closest option he could get his hands on. Nero snapped out of his fantasy wormhole upon hearing the aged creak tickle his hearing and eyeballed the small black and green foil Dante managed to retrieve, attempting to divert the remaining four senses and amplify their influence over his perfect sight. The boy, two seconds too quick in a practiced swipe, nabbed the packet out of his pinch and dropped it back in, swiftly closing the drawer and picking up where he left off in his field of blue roses running in the direction of a lighthouse animatedly flashing its light to him. "You don't want to."

Nero reached for the levitating hand and placed it on his stomach, weaving his grasp underneath and squeezing them, grinning as his head shook in agreement. "I don't…"

The bigger man opened his mouth to argue and shut it again, thinking it a battle vigilantly fought and lost at both ends of the spectrum – Dante took the hint, seductively laying on top and captivating the teen's body into determined submission, feeling the divine weight press him deeper into the mattress. "What do you want, then?"

He pinned Nero's arms on either side of his head, entwining their fingers without taking his eyes off the soon-to-be nervous mess underneath. "I want you to hurt me."

Not one to deny, his eyes glinted like the magical sadistic genie he was to grant the wish that clearly was not properly thought through, welcoming the oncoming open mouth as an invite to recce and instantly regretting the action, his mouth widening in a deep, staggering inhale while Dante aimed to please, penetrating him at a snail's pace until he was sheathed in his tight heat, feeling the younger heartbeat fluctuate to a fever scale reverberating around his sensitive, raw penis. He gladly grabbed the puffy cherry pink lip into his mouth, smirking at the effect of the ghosting nibbles covering his skin in quivering gooseflesh to go with the rushed and bated breath from below. Nero crushed his fingers bolted in the solid vice the deeper he ventured and relaxing into the familiar sensations attached to the pulsating manhood currently tearing him in two, easily discarding the pain from the previous night with a better substitute to nag his prostate and inner walls, spreading his legs in hunger for more torture, more reminders of where his ultimate loyalty lies. Dante took the gesture as a go-ahead to a treacherous feat, shifting their strongholds onto the boy's shoulders and plunging further than he could recall, moving in gentle stabs for easier breathing space. "Is this okay?"

Like his reactions weren't enough, digging the tips of his digits into the back of the twin's hand. "What about this tells you it isn't?"

Now was no time to be sassy, made evident by the demon holding the reins unfairly bucking his pelvis. "I thought the night with me might have taught you something." He listened to the voice in his head telling him to go to the boy's collarbones, suckling obstinate flecks of blood along a path of flourishing red to later join his presently bruising neck. "Guess not."

His arching back helped greatly, leading the man on top all over his tensed torso. "I'm banking on that." Nero shook the grope as soon as he got the chance, draping their way down the acquainted planes of his back to where they found rest in the pair of small dimples on his lower half, tactically positioned to-

"Oh no you don't," said the twin, swatting the limbs away from its vantage point and halting his actions to a standstill until they were securely flat against his headboard and changing up his own strategy to make the boy swallow his words, hoisting into his attack position reinforced by his arms and legs and the trademark loss of control flickering on every angle the boy could see. "That's not fair." Yes, the epitome of fair had the right to dictate the advantage he didn't plan for, eradicating the hint of such an idea to spring into his brain – and also that it would be possible – while on their journey to experience the elder unlike anything he's ever felt, exploring the unnoticed and jumping through the layers of inherent fantasy locked behind the untangling ribbon of fate struggling to keep his wits together. The strength once exhibited against the varnished oak vanished into thin air the moment Vergil's body began to move, slowly and surely picking apart the doubt tensing at his walls, nagging the soft skin to become pleasurably irritated by the growing speed and pace that the makings his orgasm would bring.

A spark of explosive damnation took a bit of the edge off, his delicate structure failing his cemented constitution after the first full plunge, pining, thick, and seemingly perpetual by Dante's instruction, giving away next to nothing apart from a stiff expression of unbelievable bliss of the unknown and simply following the diligent train tracks laid out as he watched Nero lose himself in the steady motions, basking in his entire length pounding his sanities to a pulp. The hybrid, wholly coated in the boy's juices, increased his speed with concentrated strain on his body, letting his bangs fall freely to hide the gruesome temptation oiling the cogs in his head, moving on autopilot according to the human's bodily orders pressing him deeper by means of the helpful oak. Nero adjusted with the pace, shifting inches higher on the bed for every bruising shove of his hips and quietly overjoyed at his punishment for announcing his thoughts prematurely, birthing a beast so greedy, so merciless, so carefree, he cared not the consequence of harm to his mind's eye, seeing only the opportunity to slake two thirsts at once in the most farfetched manner he could rationally think of. His body was on fire, burning more in his chest at commanding the breath that left him owing to Dante's unforgiving crave to satisfy his every need, thrusting each second and keeping to his stoutness, his arms bulging when leaning forward for the direct attacks to the teen's morale and level-headedness he'd come to know and admire plainly fading into chaos of the third degree, idyllically taken over by his carnal nature as a huge middle finger to his Alpha-esque conduct to indulge in his favourite sin with a bigger sin as his partner, filling in one half of the green form near perfectly. Nero's hands left the furniture while yanked further down the bed, grappling onto Vergil's triceps as the younger switched up the tune of their covet, reallocating the boy's legs comfortably onto his shoulders. "Vergil likes it when I do this," he said, slowly curling his victim into a makeshift ball with his calves over and above his head and having his arms pulled straight out next to him, attaching to the lean ankles at its disposal. The human felt wonderfully hopeless with his whole frame in a chokehold, watching on as Vergil's sultry face altered per thrust coming twice each tick of the digital clock on his bedside vanity and yielding as many groans from the man underneath, unable to suppress his inner devil any longer; he cried out, huskily stamping his seal in Dante's memory and launching in favour of the pliable sheets at hand, scrunching the fibres in disappointment at the give that couldn't stop him from screaming his lungs empty. They acted on their own and sped to his mouth, weaving a half-hearted bridge over the wailing gap that almost gave way, feeling the three-quarter build in the pit of his belly branding its release as it crept to its curtain call without direction. The muffled sounds put a big enough smile on Vergil's face, hovering two inches above the source of the overwhelming pleasure. "Do you want me to stop?"

Nero shook his head like a deranged animal, burning the energy in his reserves to kiss the lips suspended within his reach. "Don't you fucking dare."

The devil laughed playfully, straightening his posture to a less haughty persona and more of a likely situation for the boring sibling, maintaining the inimitable heaviness between his soft cheeks as he continued ploughing the tender naïveté deprived of remorse, wrapping the strong legs around his waist and hooking them in place; Nero threw his head and faced the ceiling, growling behind his hands before resorting back to his trusted sheets and gritting his teeth for safety, breathing harshly into the open air and piping hot in in his lungs, easily matching the raging, untouched desire readying his prolonged orgasm in its erect stature awaiting the final knock to his ego in saintly deliverance from the demonic deity on the move, rhythmically hammering his fate on the underside of his eyelids. Dante knew – of course he did – going over the lines in his rulebook one more time, bending his frame to manipulate the younger man's erection into view and licked his lips, practically smelling the inner workings of his weeping sex and taking matters into his own hands pumping viciously in sync with his movements and styling his hair appropriately, wanting Vergil in the front seat when the fuzzy ball of intellect finally gave in to the motions and came, shouting his name to be heard as far as Dante's bedroom. Nero shut down for the initial seconds of contact, hitting a tensed right fist into the mattress as his hardness was drained of everything it had, forcing a short shriek-like yell to escape him that acted as one of the first and last attempts to keep composure while being juiced like a ripened apple in Springtime – the twin squeezed and pulled hard, encircling his ridge and simultaneously sheathed his penis inside him, letting go at the moment Nero followed script and blasphemed his name, spraying his milk between their bodies in equal share in the bout he, in the beginning, indirectly waned to peak it's delectable head and now ever thankful the fiend was stubborn to persist, well aware of his fetish of mutual gratification with his mini sprite of 'hard to get' playing into his hands like fresh Play-Doh.

Very pleased with himself Dante leaned in for a closer look, slithering carefully over him coming down from his high; he was in a mood to swoon, kissing him amorously on the diamond points of his face and wiping away the wet traces on his blushing cheeks ardent in bringing him to normality. He couldn't wait for too long though; there were two reputations at stake. "You don't think I'm done with you, do you?"

Nero saw this coming, nabbing at bursts of oxygen while his partner snaked his grip around his back and pulled him onto his lap, still feeling his walls tighten on Vergil's shaft as he was carried off the bed and his back hit the familiar smoothness of his bedroom wall. "Do it like you mean it this time, okay?" He met the same smugness clamping his wrists behind the silver bushel of glory dipping into the crook of his neck as the starting flag dropped, fully incapable of concealing the verbal cues of his satisfaction.

On the other side of the wall was true Vergil, leaning against the corresponding wall and bolstered on one leg, comfortably sipping on a lukewarm hot chocolate he had prepared. Shutting his eyes, he centred in on the raw, untainted sounds coming from Nero's mouth, clenching his jaw defiantly at the new echoes and resounding dregs of delight stemming from the deepest realms of pleasure, merely acting as a coping mechanism to the consistent, ravenous pounding he endured thanks to his sibling heeding his call, happily utilising that inhumane stamina and putting it to good use to pack one hell of a punch along the depth of the boy's taut walls. It looked like his persuasion paid off, settling cosily on the couch since Dante's initial arrival and entry, waiting for both beings to lose traction with their reality which wasn't as difficult a task given their prolonged, secreted impulses. He was glad nonetheless, absorbing the steep ascent to his orgasm as he stepped off the wall and navigated across the dining room table, placing his empty mug on the counter before focussing on the staircase, taking each step slowly as his hand worked the lump of flesh and muscle underneath; Vergil soothed it over the cotton, moving his whole hand over the length and feeling it grow sickly big and heavy between his legs aided by the banister to stabilise his sense of gravity, turning the handle and crossing the threshold for a good, isolated session of him and his recurring thoughts, pushing and not hindered by the limits his mind could go for a mind-blowing release that had been fostering since dinner. He ripped the pants in one go, nursing his full erection as it came in contact with the cold air and slamming Dante's bedroom door shut, planting his weight on the oak and breathing in lungfuls of oxygen as he realised the potential brought upon by the thick, throbbing length, squeezing every inch of the shaft until his vision blurred and a warm, viscid fluid sprang from his aching tip and onto his wrist.

He licked it clean, recognising the taste – pineapple; he had to smile at the irony.

Nero bit down on the fleshy part of his neck as the dull thump came from the other side of the house, muffling incoherent sentiments he could barely make out above the sound of Vergil's member annihilating his entrance. "What was that?"

The younger twin kept his unforgiving pace, holding him fast around his waist as the boy tensed around his erection. "Vergil approves this message," he said, clamping his wrist and opening up the passage to rain further havoc, timing his thrusts between seconds while Nero bounced on his sex, pushing him farther and deeper away from the chasm known as his sanity.


	10. A first and a last

Dante maintained the role of crowd pleaser with a medium grouping of Nero's fellow graduating class, the teens attaching to the recognisable face they'd see once or twice a year – the genders fixing their comforts on entirely different aspects of him – running with their expensive phones and cameras after successfully locating their white-haired classmate and the taller guardians that were their actual hopes for a keepsake, clumping around the younger twin who stepped forward to greet them all and keep them safe from the real harm that was Vergil's higher level sarcasm and wit, sharp skyward eyebrow and tight-lipped disapproval at happy youth in general, sparking depressing comments on how they had just completed the easiest part of life and that it was nothing worth celebrating in grandeur. And yet he was in a surprisingly good mood, standing away from the drifting rippling sea of black capes flocking to their unplanned superhero in body-hugging charcoal smiling for the flashing lights in every random direction. His older sibling and Nero spectated from a distance, semi-impressed by his influence over the raging pheromones wildly discernible to his inner half, feigning amused ignorance at the light touches in and around the rear pockets of his slacks as he generically posed for the wanted pictures, enjoying the attention while it lasted among strangers until it became uncomfortable. He'd occasionally look back to see if they were still there and awkwardly wave, his housemates blatantly taking no notice yet looking directly at him, safely turning their attention to one another rather than save the twin from his self-induced predicament. The boy stepped to his left, hiding in the massive casted shadow of the setting sun with Vergil towering in his all black ensemble, typing on his phone while offcuts of the crowd took stray, blurry photos of the two of them mid-denial of sexual frustration standing sufficiently close to each other, capturing the vibrant, amethyst flames on camera for their own personal yearbook folder on memory card. Nero leaned over to peek at his affairs, clicking his tongue at whatever could possibly be more important than his last day of high school. "What do you want to do tonight?"

The question came from nowhere, immediately moving his focus from the screen to the blandly pleased face locking and pocketing his cell in his slim pullover freezing Nero's brain before it could compute the query and sound intelligible. "What do you mean?"

Vergil fidgeted with his watch, looking uninterested across the field as he pulled at his sleeves, folding a uniform bend on both. "It's your special day. We can do whatever you want."

"Really?"

Nero seemed genuinely surprised at the offer, not a stranger to its formation but more so coming from the sombre twin simmering in unmatched patience and utter perfection. "Really; this is a big deal to you."

'How far did the proposition stretch' was the real concern. "Whatever I want?"

"Anything in the world. We can give you that," he said with a yummy glint to the array of twinkling stars in his eyes turning to a soft smirk brimming with the possibilities his brain spewed into his consciousness. "Eiffel Tower, Great Wall, the Pyramids, Great Barrier Reef, the Coliseum, Everest, you name it."

The options shouldn't have shocked him. "How do you remember that?"

Like he hadn't been paying attention for four years. "It's more difficult for me to forget than to remember." Vergil scratched at his temple tongue-in-cheek, a stray piece of cotton catching his sights as he spanned the great plateau of black and green, stepping closer and snapping the loose end behind the boy's neck. "So, what will it be?"

In Nero's opinion it was a no brainer, getting surer of his pick with the demon's hand feeling its way to the middle of his back rubbing the sweet spot between his shoulder blades. "None of those – scary movie, you and me. I'll make the popcorn, you make the coffee."

Well, he tried. "You're not going to get this chance again."

He could feel the heat through five layers of clothing. "Of course I will, but I'm prioritising."

Nero also wouldn't say if it were the subject matter or his companion he put first. "You're taking this horror fetish too far, Nero. It could impact your health if you're not careful."

Mirroring his guardian's stance, he sniffed the opening right under Vergil's nose, dusting nothing off every inch of shirt his right hand could reach before things turned sour for the rest of the crowd. "That's why you're there."

Too smart for their own good and too dire in need to win the war of glazing the secret boundaries in their silent, overworking heads. "What about Dante?"

"He has a date tonight. Or he's working. One of the two. Or both. I'm sure he gets confused too."

The elder twin's hand smoothed his gown until he hit the strong dip just above the hem of his slacks, following through the same path up to the back of his neck. "If that's what you want, who am I to decline a direct offer."

"It is," he said, changing from one twice-fizzing seething anomaly to the other identical one, happy his crowd was thinning and showing it with a wider smile and obscenely animated poses. "Plain salt."

The taller man followed his line of sight, his face bland, mildly bitter. "Put on anything else, I will disown you." That sufficiently caught his attention, going hand in hand with the light compressions at his hairline working the knots from their deepest roots as Dante turned to face them, compelling a straight face to hide the sheer leisure that wasn't happening behind him. "We are proud of you, puny human."

Dante focussed on his crowd once more, counting off the last few students droning serious questions his way while setting their new display pictures imagining the envy on the faces of every female in their contact list. Nero resumed his concentration on the obnoxious sibling and his aim, powerless in fighting his way through the softness encompassing a two-foot radius of grass swaying at their restive feet. "Thank you, demon prince." The hybrids loved that term, an embodiment of their heritage and the premise of their birth in its entirety; the sole three syllables in every language that spun them around your pinkie finger and later to other parts of your body, slowly releasing the kept innermost ancient beastly thrashing against his impermeable ribcage like a phoenix awakened from the shadows of an afternoon nap. "I appreciate it."

He genuinely did, poking his needle in the working haystack that was his polygonal brain – the boy peeled the hand away, pressing on the spellbinding pulse he'd countlessly fallen asleep to as he set it at the demon's side, fuming quietly in his head while Vergil shifted his weight closer to him and his utter joy. "Dante will have a speech at dinner, but-" he cleared his throat, sticking his unoccupied hand in his pocket. "You've done extremely well in a short amount of time. It's remarkable…" He stopped, realising Nero was staring at him in stupefied, gentle confusion commanded by furrowed eyebrows and the clearest his eyes had ever been. "Watching you grow has been fun; I hope you will continue to grow into the man you dream to be and that you will work just as hard in all your future endeavours. Your passion and drive are admirable; you go for what you want, and I idolise that most about you." The innocent disbelief was adorable, waiting for a stray something to hit him in the head and wake him from his free-standing daydream. His uncharacteristically blank stare and slightly parted lips was a wasp sting to his incapability of being sincere yet pleased with the result standing an inch away. "I mean it."

The setting sun gave Vergil an angelic glow in a beautiful contrast to the iciness he was used to. "Where's all of this coming from?"

Is it so hard to believe it's always been there? "A deep, dark, frozen, volatile place," he said, smooth as his collection of import whiskies shelved proudly in his favourite corner of the kitchen. "I'll stop there in case it clashes with Dante's words of wisdom."

"Speaking of which-" the younger twin was in the motion of finishing his involuntary round, dragging the muscles in his mouth to the visible finish line, "-should we go save him?"

Vergil shook his head, wobbling the silver feelers on the sides of his head. "A little longer. He has a few snaps left in him."

"He looks like he's happy enough." The human had no clue; he wasn't looking. Could you blame him, still processing the accolade down to its miniscule detail like a gorgeous honeybee clinging to a bright yellow sunflower. "Thank you for what you said. It means a lot."

A deft nod bounced the cute tufts against his forehead before he stepped forward, taking the lead in contradicting the cry of help he didn't initially see on Dante's face. "Come on – he gets miserable when they're out of crème brulee."

Nero obediently followed two smaller steps behind. "We can make it at home if there's none left."

"Indeed, but that means a later start time for your movie and I'd rather get that over and done with."

The more he said it the more thrilled he became. "You don't like scary movies?"

"The purpose is to scare. I don't get scared, therefore they are pointless. The only thing I can secretly look forward to is the popcorn."

They continued on, barely halfway along the path Dante had taken. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I can give you a proper answer but I need time to think about it-"

Vergil slowed to a stop, turning to the deliberately harmless, doe-eyed bad cop who stared back, delight engraved on the pale straight face he managed to pull off. "No, you've made your bed, and now you have to squeal in it."

He made it sound so sinfully inviting that the human part of him couldn't resist, curiously verifying his surroundings – mainly for the hybrid preoccupied with the last of his audience – and coolly squaring his jaw at the opportunity that had risen in broad daylight. "He isn't looking."

The twin took a deep breath at the witty audacity in front of him, stretching the pullover across his chest as his cheeks puffed with air and every suitable comeback for his comment escaped his body, stepping into his personal bubble determined to give his core a little bit of a shock in his own indecent manner. "How sure are you?" he asked, an immediate reaction from the human to triple check his right and allow Vergil to swoop in at the angle, kissing his temple at the speed of sound and carry on the way to his brother. "Made you look."

Why did he have to be so fucking fast? "I hate you so much."

One corner of his mouth contemplated entertaining the itch tugging a quarter inch upward. "Lying to yourself this early in life is a bad habit to feed, dear boy."

"What bad habit?"

Dante appeared out of nowhere – not really, but their focus too quickly shifted to the reality in front of them – with a perfect inquisitive smile nosy for detail on their conversation; hands on his hips, the younger twin looked between them both to spill some beans. "He said you looked cute with your crowd."

His joy effervesced. "You used the 'C' word."

"He hates it."

"More than anything."

"And I'd love to continue patronising him, but I'm hungry."

"Me too," said Dante, walking in the direction of the matt-black Audi drawing as much attention as he did. "I could do with some food as well."

They followed him shoulder to shoulder, every possible one of Nero's loose ends catching the final dregs of the wind subsiding with the disappearing sun. "Don't get kinky in public, Dante; you know what happened to Nero last time."

Oh no, not this again. "I forbade embarrassing stories just for today-"

"That's not an embarrassing story, it's a learning curve. More a Mobius strip, but it's something."

The twins in the zone fusing their sarcastic influence was on the opposite end of a red wine binge, getting bitchslapped on either side of the face to rethink each decision ever made in your lifetime. "I don't like it when you guys get twinsane on me."

His terming was delightful against the greying sky. "Take it as a compliment. Vergil feels comfortable enough to act his mental age around you."

"And Dante's wearing clothes of his own will."

The threesome reached the gorgeous piece of machinery making an entrance by slipping past the single layer of graduates admiring the brute in its plain, untainted beauty. Vergil clicked the immobiliser and the car blinked in command, safely opening milliseconds before they climbed in simultaneously plonking their posteriors on the heating seats. "We got a table at your favourite place."

Surfside: a quaint, quiet gem found in a late evening stroll hankering a terrific craving for sushi – built over the ocean with a glass floor, good music, and a roster of employees too eager to serve free drinks to the prominent silver heads in their section. "Over the lake?"

"Window seat," said Dante, gloating on his score of a top seat on a Friday evening. "Vergil's paying."

Named brother adjusted his rear-view mirror and turned the ignition, hearing the engine roar under the acceleration pedal and impressed faces splitting in two outside the tinted windows. "I guess I can't hate you anymore."

Vergil pulled out of the parking lot with an ironic leer. He wasn't even trying.

Dante jogged down his staircase in full uniform mid-speed to Nero's room, hearing the horrified screams of females tripping over their own feet running away from a vague idea that glimpsed their slow brains into useless danger overdrive that would later prove futile against the plot device of the killer's machete happily protruding out of their chests. The thick oak would live another day, the hybrid skidding across the floor as his trusted sword hit his back reacting to his demonic essence building for the job at hand; he knocked three times to not startle the horror-crazed teen, opening the door gently and greeted by a shower scene he had seen before and recalling the fairly specific age restriction for the particular nakedness he faced, shifting his blamey gaze between the sixty inch flat screen blaring the high definition shadow of cleavage and the two on the bed. "This is eighteen."

His sights where on his brother, a sinister flick of his tongue to the right corner of his mouth wanting some manner of answer to his statement. Vergil stared ahead as per functioning male protocol, giving him a split-second side glare whilst gnawing on his bowl of salted popcorn. Hurriedly, he gave up on the guiltless face and turned to Nero, too glued to the steamy silhouette and impending doom behind his duvet. "PG eighteen, and I'm a P."

"There's no such thing."

The older twin proffered the bowl over the boy's head and his sibling preceded two large handfuls, stuffing his face as the gesture intended. "He has seen worse, Dante – let that thought comfort you in your time of distress."

Nero laughed – sniggered – at the sound of the onscreen bathroom door squeaking with his eyes peeled on his blindspots instead of the more interesting front. "Igh dughencgh." _It doesn't._ He chewed, scooching the teen's long legs and perching on the edge, swallowing for the next handful halfway into the closer bowl. "I'm running late so I'll make this quick-" The actress screamed to the obvious plot twist, cowering to the dry section of the small glass box with a clear view of the masked face and spreading her hands in front of her face as if it were to signify something. "Verge, make sure he has water, okay? That's the only thing you have to-" Nero's body jolted in fright at the sudden appearance of a chainsaw materialised from thin air and revving it through the door like a hot knife through butter, felling it into a thousand unrealistic pieces at the killer's feet; she continued to scream as he came closer, slowly, on purpose, slicing her into pieces in the most practiced motion imaginable – the fake blood bounced off her screams and went everywhere, stemming from a detached head long after a dull thud signalled its descent to the floor. Dante and Nero burst into a fit of giggles suited for two in the morning while Vergil tried his best not to, skewing his face and rolling his eyes at how they clutched their stomachs and hit the mattress with their fists to prevent any sound coming from any hole available. Dante wiped the tears running down his cheeks and picked himself up, checking the digital clock to calculate the correct amount of time he was going to be late. "I forgot how terrible this was."

Vergil watched him grabbing more popcorn. "Brother, you need to move."

"Iye gnoooooooooooooooow….." He cleared his throat and stood, fluffing the human's hair and pressing his face into the sheets. "I love you both; be safe and don't do anything I wouldn't."

Nero found his centre of gravity once the weight disappeared, nearly spilling his portion in the space between him and the older twin. "What time will you be back?"

Dante was already out of the door. "Dunno. It's two cities down so minimum five hours-"

"Taking the bike?"

He threw the boy a dumb look, poking his head into the room. "If I'm not back by morning, Vergil can take you for a lesson with the car. Plus, the vibrations help-"

"-you to focus and keep you alert for the long drive, correct?"

Vergil climbed off the bed and scooted him to the front door, following the path out of the room. "Why must you spoil the fun?"

Their banter turned to incoherent muffle as the blue demon shut the door on his way out, becoming softer and softer the closer they ventured to the front, leaving Nero to wonder how long he'd have to wait before Vergil had his last laugh – or whatever it was he did – and Dante allowed it, squishing comfortably in the throne of pillows his ego had constructed and disregarded for his laughing fit. The movie went to a different scene, swapping amid hopelessly clueless faces utilising the zoom profusely for lost effect, the next murder fuse lit behind a previously assumed locked door with banging coming from the other side. The elder twin knocked on the panicked rhythm, scaring his throne out of place and making him spill some kernels. "Don't… say a word… just get over here and switch to the real stuff. I can't take much more of this."

Vergil shut the door, taking a slow walk to the opposite side and sat against the headboard, switching the HDMI channels to show the real movie paused at its least terrifying still: a menacing clown dancing with the fires of Hell as a fitting backdrop putting on a frightening show for an unsuspecting teenager clinging to the adjacent wall. "He would have had a mental breakdown if he saw this."

"Points to you for knowing he'd randomly barge in." Anything to delay looking at the TV; the elder's choice of horror had made it difficult to get through and it was a clear step up from the previous attempt. "Does he not like clowns?"

A mop of silvery hair shook in answer. "I forced him to read a book, he chose this one. Opening scene was enough." He chucked four pieces into his mouth. "You said you wanted to shit your pants."

"Gradually," he said, craning his neck in disbelief at the nonchalance that was the slight smirk and returning the stare, swallowing his mouthful and blatantly giving him a once-over. "Not every second."

"There are worse to witness-"

"Oh really? Like what?"

"Ever tried taking Dante's sweets and get caught?" And with the invisible snap of fingers in the air, the angry clown mid performance lost its entire scare factor; he woke the TV from its screensaver, bringing the crazy killer back from power-saving sleep. "Three bruises and my favourite sour jelly bean. Worth it."

The bland voice didn't sound convinced either, but Nero was safer with the circus freak burning his pupils over the soft fabric that would haunt him for coming months. "Let's continue, shall we? The quicker this ends, the sooner I can find replacement images."

Play-button pressed, Vergil allowed the possessed music box to resonate and bathe the walls in the sounds of death to accompany the graphic imagery the boy witnessed in real time in a sneer too evil to resist. Nero cowered into his side opting for a scrunched faceful of cotton over the torture blaring in surround sound. "What are you doing? You're going to miss it."

"I want to miss it!" The squishing and spraying of human innards should never be recorded and replicated in his opinion, jerking deeper into the blue cocoon when all had gone quiet under the assumption the clown went for a cup of tea. "I didn't want to be scared and grossed out."

"Tandem," said the hybrid, smelling the angst from his pores and instinctively cuddled him closer, setting his bowl of popcorn directly under his nose for comfort. "Do you want me to turn it off?"

He looked up, furrowing his dark eyebrows for the ridiculousness of the valid, almost choosable query. "Are you gonna tell Dante?"

Of course he was. "My lips are sealed."

"Then do what you m-" Nero looked at the TV and lost control of his gag reflex, lurching to the red-food-colouring maple syrup mixture and dummy body parts with the tiniest hint of outdated, cheap CGI as Vergil pressed the screen to black and just the sound of their heartbeats rang in their ears. He set the remote on the dresser at his side and tried to show no amusement, sneering with his lips between his teeth and slowly rubbing the boy's back, too comfortable for their own good; he tilted his senses to the fluffy mess, tasting the vanilla softness triggered by their mutual content in the thick silence, Nero's new shampoo and the twin's itchy fingers raking through the calming strands of white snuggling into his muscled frame.

"Water."

The single word vibrated in his chest. "I'm not thirsty."

"I don't make the rules." And with that Nero slammed into the bed as Vergil evaporated into thin air, presumably following the one request his brother gave him before going on his first mission of the day; the boy cursed the damned demon and his corresponding power, swinging back to his side and planting his feet on the cold tile in time to see his guardian standing in his threshold. Closing it quietly, his right eyebrow arched perfectly as he locked eyes with the teen, turning the key and locking them in. Vergil dropped the black bottle on a small table next to the bed after a big sultry sip, twisting the cap so tightly the veins in his arms popped in strain. "Let's see how far you get."

He couldn't care less about the water. "Why'd you lock the door?"

Nero laced his fingers in his lap, leaning forward to gape at the demonic hand toying with the bulbous plastic. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"And now you're an expert on what I want?"

"I'm going by your words," he said, taking a step forward and fitting naturally in the space between his legs. "Or has your mind changed in a week?"

"It hasn't." His hands reached behind the demon's knees and pulled him closer, resting his forehead beneath his belly button. "I didn't think you took me seriously."

Vergil obeyed the silent command, taking a sudden interest at the top of his crown. "When have I not taken you seriously?"

The demon's tone took a weighted turn, deep and resounding as his inner alpha shook the reins all the way down his strong body, pulling taut on all the ways this could go right. "You're saying yes?" He smiled as he looked up, sneaking underneath the hem of his shirt laying his palms flat on the fiend's scorching skin. His hands were cool to the touch, burning the small of his back like dry ice dropped into contained lava in the shape of a serene ticking time bomb.

A lone digit drifted to his chin, a thumb caressing the nervous jawline. "I'm agreeing to tonight." The anticipation dripped from their mouths like molten drool, looking up to the glowing blue eyes of the tough adversary softening with every new sensation on his upper thighs. "You'll have to convince me." The image suddenly vanished in his grasp and momentarily feeling his mattress dip behind him, a deep exhale taunting his hearing as Vergil reappeared comfortably aligned on the wooden backrest. Nero followed in a less flashy fashion, stalking on all fours across the bed to the lounging being propped in a sea of luxury and staring in the time it took to slip under his bent leg and pulling the other around his waist as he kneeled in front of his plan of action. "Do your worst," he said, permitting his frame to be contorted as the boy desired, wrapping every available resource on his overheating physique; now completely tangled, Nero's hunger traversed the gorgeous body that would be his plaything, grabbing and playfully squeezing Vergil's hips at the moment their eyes met, forcing an unannounced glimmer of sunshine to form on the hybrid's face.

The bigger man sat up to support the act in front of him, steadily reaching for the other pair of hands and pinning them on the bed at either side while the space between receded into nothingness; a flicker of apprehension dissipated under Vergil's fingertips on his neck, trailing to his sternum as he took the step deserted on pause since Dante's surprise arrival days prior – his inhuman lips were as soft as he'd imagined, penetrating his senses from the first second and each afterward, shutting him down nerve by nerve the deeper he risked into the hybrid's mouth. Their tongues roamed free of reticence, ferociously rocking Nero's core out of balance and reflexively clutching the stout pair of shoulders while lifting off his knees, driving both of them sideways into the soft sheets. Vergil moaned on impact, earning a snide mien to hover above his Freudian slip in all its horny splendour savouring the sadistic appeal that came as a side order to the beast on his back. "I could get used to this."

The demon's only reply was a hefty tug on a fistful of hair flipping their positions and crushing him under toned skin and a bad decision. "Make sure you don't." Those last words rang down his spine, sparking a line of dormant fireworks beginning with a single flick of his tongue on Nero's warm neck-

-and was shaken by the miniscule drop from his pillow to his mattress telling his brain it was merely a blip on his part and that the rest of the dream should continue, flipping over and cuddling with his blankets away from anything that posed a thousandth percentile threat of him fully waking. But the smell hit him first; fresh wet grass mixed an aroma of dark chocolate and hot coffee tingling his eyes open to an empty space, ruffled and unkempt alongside traces of a slow exit evident in the covers bunched on his end; the warmth hit him after, touching the area for the hell of it – as he always did – and surprised to find it nice and toasty like Dante, just moments ago, remembered his brother never slept in.

He tossed to his previous imprint and spotted steam in his peripheral, looking further to discover a hot cup of coffee next to his water bottle singing the song of its people and utterly oblivious to the naked figure staring out of his bedroom window holding his huge blue cup and a blank look encapsulating the flawless otherworldly being he was. Nero only then traced the line of condensation to the lock on his door, keyhole empty. "Your computer made a noise. It woke me up."

Unsure of the scene unfolding his sleepy haze, one thing was for certain: there was coffee in front of him and it was his sworn duty to drink it. "Sleep well?"

They took a sip. "A little. Different. Nice. Warm." The boy missed the reflection of content staring back, far too focused on whatever was outside to sneak a peek at the half-dead version of the human at one with his cuppa and his hair in every direction his dreams allowed.

Holding the ceramic to his face, Nero bit the edge for the brunt of his joy to be masked by the tool, taking the clues one by one and coming to a solitary conclusion without the mischief soaked in the past forty two hours. "You stayed."

The demon took another sip. "I did. We have nothing to hide anymore. I also wanted a lazy day."

It took a few seconds for the fact to breach the other half of him still stuck in sleep, but there was no denying it – he was talking to Vergil. Vergil Vergil, not Dante Vergil. "Lazy?" The only way to be certain was to keep him talking, granted he did.

He nodded, finishing his cup. "You were sleeping in my arms, I had no choice. I know you hate it when you don't get enough, hence the deal breaker in your hand."

Nero slumped lower on the bed in full knowledge of his inner grouch that, seldom, came out when either requirement wasn't reached. "I don't get cranky."

Was that a smirk he saw in the window? "And while you carry on believing that, I'll get refills and you finish whatever you have to finish."

Vergil turned and walked to him, stretching his hand for the cutlery; the human, however, had his attention drawn to a different organ altogether, watching the intimidation trek closer with each step in muddled judgement sending pulses to particular parts of his body making him bunch his duvet around his midsection. "What's gotten into you?"

He didn't miss a beat, bending to claim the mug and straightening for a good view. "What do you mean?" He played good cop, keeping his arms open for a quick jump into the wet pools of his own thinking; the teen didn't miss his cue either, shifting his bunch of bedding and standing in the stance created by holding the mugs. The strings on their bodies bowed to fate's will, tugging in opposing directions and satisfying the hushed quandary of their souls crying for one another. "I won't bite."

Vergil's sleepy voice scrambled his tired thoughts and took them to a new level, moving on autopilot to kiss the irrevocable chaos in virtuous form poking Nero's inner sanity with a crazy straw; slow and mesmerising, his hands latched onto his sides for safety, splaying his fingers over the muscles relaxing beneath his touch concentrating on their dancing tongues tripping over one another's left feet. The younger flattened his feet on the floor nearly losing his balance on his tiptoes as he ripped himself from the sole obstacle keeping him from his university quiz, inwardly slapping himself for doing what he needed to do. "Hurry up."

Neither made an effort to move. "That's my line." With minimum effort he vanished, reappearing in the kitchen as the student beelined for his computer and started the weekly questionnaire that automatically entered his inbox. As he took his seat, he shook his head clear from the cobwebs brought upon by demon's decision to stay; he couldn't care less what could have caused the unforetold trade, the man he experienced was the elder and that's all that mattered. What was once a distant fantasy now bore a crippling zoom lens with immaculate timing, helpfully modified by the twin demonic hand that toyed with the settings until the bigger picture was no longer blurred and taking the snapshot as proof of his asinine inference to the only obvious upshot that held any substance for both of them. Nero made a note to thank him later, messing up his login and entry buttons on his second try and succeeding the third, adopting academic mode as the timer in the above right corner ticked down from ten minutes and clicking away like a maniac at the multiple choice questions as if the answers were memorised beforehand.

Vergil returned quickly, carrying brimming mugs of liquid adrenaline and setting one down out of reach of a flailing hand in joy or error, resuming his melancholy spot at the window counting the gloomy raindrops hitting the glass in a hypnotising rhythm keeping his mind off the hard worker engrossed in his speedy assignment. "It's raining outside."

Nero loved morbid weather, using it as a faultless excuse to stay in bed until the sun peeped through the grey sky and it was officially 'morning'. "I hear so," he said, clicking the SUBMIT button on his final question and setting his computer to hibernate faster than the roadrunner in a KFC, attempting a sluggish look while grabbing his cup to join the relaxed soul and kissing him on his right shoulder for polite introduction; he snuggled under the raised limb for a look at the beauty on the wet street and tiny balls of hail bouncing off the sidewalk kept in shape by the accompanying cold wind. "You smell good."

The twin played with his hair, parting it to one side and planting a chaste peck on his forehead. His empty coffee mug found the windowsill, still warm and defrosting the piercing chill from outside. "I want to give it a try."

Nero was patient for the other half of the sentence that never came. "Give what a try?"

His curiosity and blazon stare caught the mind reader off guard, turning to face the specimen in all his stone-faced vulnerability; the sentiment froze the boy in eagerness going hand in hand with the tender hold on his neck, both hands calm in the complexity of his confession. "This 'us' thing." Vergil retaliated in striking blue breathing deeply at the impulsive glint of wonder and finality framed in his grasp. "I'm no expert, but I've been stupid wanting to look the other way when everything has been right here all along. I'm sorry for wanting to persuade you otherwise." Nero had replayed this scene countless times, and each instance brought fewer clues to his reaction, leaving it to the odd chance the spur of the moment would chain him up and drag him by his shins. All his conscience left him was a goofy smile and awkward puffy cheeks as the pupae clogged his throat and passage of oxygen to his brain – placing his mug on the same cold perch, his hands were free to squeeze the hybrid's wrists in happiness flat-out of options to avoid how cheesy he felt, using his fluffy mop to hide his excitement. "I'd love to know what you're thinking."

There were no hands to pinch himself, knee deep in caramel lust and longing rivalled solely by his love for chocolate. "Three words," was all that could break the surface, bubbling from the deepest pits of his belly and spilling over to his bloodstream as his heart worked double time to pump said life force to his whole body.

Vergil's relief was priceless. "I'll get there," he said, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders and pulling Nero into an embrace to make up for his lack of confidence in revealing the motivation behind their unscripted moment.

They were three words, weren't they? "That's good enough."

He bent low, his hellish breath scorching the shell of the human ear. "The most I can do is try."

"That's all I want."

He was in a mood as immutable and definite as his integrity. "You deserve more-"

"I don't want more." Nero unwrapped around his waist and laid his palms flush on his smooth chest, curling them into fists to beat his innermost feelings the literal way. "I want you."

The student picked the best part to obsess over feeling his thunderous heartbeat increase in pace and strength, grinning into the heating flesh one risky thought at a time. Vergil gave a single chuckle, catching quickly onto his unintended giveaway. His large hands drew a straight line to the back of Nero's head tangling in the snowy strands clasping and pulling for a clearer view of his blushing expression. "Again." That commanding voice never failed to chill him to the bone, demanding something that simply couldn't be refused.

He discerned the impeccable passion in his tone, seductively deadly as his blood boiled its way between his legs aching to be eased by the digits delicate on his tensing jaw. Biting his lip, Nero's shy simper made him the picture of innocence, slowly ascending the sinful features beneath his long eyelashes. "I want you, Vergil-" the devilish name on his lips was the last straw, pile driving the weakened creature in a bruising kiss felt three streets down: that fatal last letter provided the perfect overture for the beast in question to lick his way into the willing, open mouth with the tip of his tongue, drawing Nero in by a tighter grip at the base of his skull for the hunger only sated the old fashioned way: sandwiched between silky sheets with the furniture's cries heard by the unsuspecting hordes of Hell. Vergil pushed deeper still, riding the wave of unparalleled instinct whilst devastating the boy's proper brain functioning under his incessant need for satisfaction in every shape and form, stealing glimpses of his dream state as time slowly froze around them. In tandem, Nero slacked on his wrists and flailed around his neck with his lower back growing hot with need heaving his frame to Vergil's eye level and sneakily wrapping his legs on his waist, reacting a second too slow at the incredible size his partner had swelled. The demon need not be told twice and steadied the bulk of the teen, grabbing and massaging his cheeks in a healthy rhythm, moving along his hips to distract the movements to the bed and keep his mind in one place; his unpredictable stay threw every iron-clad rule to the furnace burned alive in a sea of his own naiveté, fighting the glass shards of his stupidity by taking strides closer to the soft fortress where he flung Nero on his back, landing with a sadistic deep moan sending shivers down his own spine. Vergil stalked the young prey, kissing him passionately into the mattress as his innermost demon growled decreeing the attention to his nagging itch and at once teleported him onto his stomach, the boy's body stretched restfully across the surface holding tightly onto the oak that served as his comfort when the fiend lost control over his better half.

"You know the words, Nero."

He did, and like hell he'd be using them. "And you should know better."

Mid-breath, Vergil got into position and hiked the nakedness on his knees and slid his hardened shaft over the supple entrance, controlling the feeble body with the slightest unseen caress; he adjusted slowly into him, encasing his tip until the ring of nerves tensed at the invasion and awaited the moment of his trademark shudder relaxing him and covering his skin in finicky gooseflesh. The human moaned in the back of his throat complimenting the delectable girth about to split his conscience in two, drawing measured breaths into the torn pillowcase entertaining his grasp too – in the midst of his rapture his head was yanked to a graceless angle, clenching his teeth as the voice from his personal heaven spoke. "Let me give you what you've been waiting for." Nero no longer saw the tapered, practiced stare of a man under obligation entranced to please based off words on a piece of paper; what stood was a want so irreversibly untamed, so mild and yet so undeniably indestructible, so driven and motivated by the workings of his damned soul and not the reclusive equations that plagued his every move. That fire he'd seen his graduation night was home, melting them to one reckoning force as it should have been since. The twin cupped his chin and kept those brimming blues in view as he allowed the full length of his erection to pierce the fatigued walls, shocking the teen's eyes and mouth wide open. His trembling hands slowly traversed the few inches of material to return to the headboard, his knuckles turning white in strain of realisation mingled with intense ruthlessness pumping inside of him; the prominent arch to his back was just the beginning, testing the pool of water to surpass the limits of his body's capability in sacrifice to appease the deity in sheer control of his carnal surplus. Vergil breathed into his mouth in tune with his harsh and equally deep thrusts, digging his fingers in the soft skin currently mauled by his desire and raged gaze inching to the spots his penis couldn't reach.

* * *

Thanks to the weather, the gentle taps of rain were adequate to stir the sleeping demon inside the sleeping demon, both rousing awkwardly searching for the signature rays of morning sunshine implicating the arrival of a new day and the numerous bad choices that came with it. The softness of the sheets confused him in difference and familiarity, moulding around his body to a memory of days ago when he was in his own snug bed, letting his naked form soak into the duvet elevated with the sprinkle of hearty vitamin D that always hit him square in the face and retaliating in a well-crafted turnover to singe the sweet spot between his shoulder blades until he was readily content, prompting a swift throw of his covers to the opposite end and a slight bend to the floor feeling for his boxers to fill his decency quota for the day. He couldn't help but roll his head on the pillow, craning his neck at the hardness that was nowhere to be found; his eyes opened leisurely, taking in the surroundings of his own room and bolstering upward as the misperception faded to a mere bubble pop, turning to his right and having recognition stare him in the face. Following the top of his priority list Dante lifted the covers, a proud, broad smile encompassing his sleepy features framed in snowy bed hair pointing in the same direction as his focus. "Oh pal, it's been a rough few days for you, hasn't it?" and stopped, griping harder at the clump of material with a single eyebrow raised in shock value and honour. "Apparently not." With a small twisted smile, the younger twin yanked himself free and planted his feet flat on his floor, extending his entire body to reflect in his mirror to feast on as he cracked his skeleton all the way down to his toes and finally breathed easy in his own skin. The oxygen flow to his brain thought up the most unimaginable to do to Hanson – immediately raising his permeating good mood – skipping to his closet where Vergil's presence emanated like a good smell from a trash can; the unorganised clothes must have worked on the single nerve he permitted Dante to occupy, ordering them by style in descending colour as neat as it was creepy and making his life easier than it already was.

After claiming a worn-out grey sweater he hadn't seen in years and pairing it with the equivalent black sweats, his vanity pulled him across the room for a quick fluff to his hair, catching the hidden compartment in his top dresser drawer tilting his gawk in contemplation at the contents of the secret box he kept amid the scramble of socks with a familiar gold-horned purple dragon mocking his obvious choice and how he succeeded in pushing it away for so long. Today was the day if there ever was one, given the crazy events of yesterday, wanting to be defiant in a reminder of his fault to ease away the imaginary tension prior to the proposed visit.

Dante jogged down the stairs in bare feet doused in tenacity, walking briskly to the fridge to scan the items at his disposal to reignite the frozen flame of the purchased crepes he wouldn't see go to waste owing to half a disastrous night. He picked up the stacked boxes with care and transferred them to the kitchen counter, plucking the milk and eggs on his second trip alongside a bar of dark chocolate, vanilla essence, and an empty egg tray out of the pantry; his malicious ingenuity worked well when he was peckish as inspiration nursed a fire beneath his sprightly posterior, urging his floury fingers to create something from scratch catered to every mouth around the dining table. Looking at the labour that lay ahead, he sighed into the air as he pried the lids off each cardboard box and poked the semi soggy desserts, harvesting them individually and plucking the sliced pieces of fruit embedded in the ensembles for his ultimate plan to get a move on. Dante cursed his own appetite under his breath wishing it played no role when it came to his own limits in the kitchen, and considering all the elements included in his ambition, stopped his full two minutes of hard work and tiptoed to the liquor cabinet drinking straight from the bottle of Jack Daniels, appreciating the burn to his senses with a wince at the melted ice cream swimming around in their respective bowls.

An hour later, the finish line approached the younger devil sooner than he anticipated, stepping back for a last check of all his components ready and waiting for the two lovebirds to end their libido-induced shenanigans – yes, although he was fantastic at blocking particular noise, he allowed curiosity to get the better of him, dipping a teaspoon into the molten dark chocolate and nibbling it off the cutlery in favour of a malfunction to his better thinking to hear their cries of ecstasy play out like a stuck record, and like a good brother, letting it through one ear and out the other respecting the precious covet for its captivating implication: they were now officially a couple. And that came with a different benefit: teasing. Giggling to no one in particular, he dropped the starting flag and let the endless lines of cheeky dialogue run vertically in his brain like the neon numbers of the Matrix cutting through the sea of black that was the infinite abyss of potential harassment two ways, ending either in a chokehold or a blushing mess, and both entirely worthwhile. He took his tenth overall gulp from the glass bottle when a sickeningly bitter odour hit his nose, becoming sweeter with every step nearer the front door. The knock hadn't yet come but he knew the large figure dawdling on the other side, his fist hovering above the entry signal with a mind floating a million miles away. Lars couldn't bring himself to alert his presence, each fragment of built-up confidence dying when faced against something as simple as a doorstep. The incubus looked down either side of the wet street and blew an arbitrary strawberry to a selection of raindrops, decisively knocking the thick wood just enough to break through the tranquil rhythm induced by the random downpour. His lover stood swinging on his feet for the elapsed time it would have taken to trot from the kitchen to his exact spot, turning the handle and pulling it inward for a foretaste of the true breakfast he wished could start his day: his all black attire stood dry draped on his massive physique hiding underneath a stylish thick coat he wore only to imitate the drop in temperature; the tears in his jeans negated the purpose of the coat however, but this was Dante's favourite clothing to see him in, and paired with his V-neck long sleeves and combats was a recipe worthy of a Nobel prize, harmonising too well with his wavelength to be worn longer than necessary. His beautiful emerald stare was downturned, stiff, with jittery hands in his pockets – maybe he really felt the cold. And when he chose to speak, his booming voice shrunk in mere hours as if afraid his words would injure upon being heard. "Is your brother home?"

If Dante needed a gage and left it to this sentence, his mood was on the brink of a debauched plummet without knowing why. "You wanna speak to Vergil?" He propped his arm against the doorframe mentally counting down from ten for the penny to drop, praying that proved plentiful for a possible turnaround in his mood that wasn't as dreary as the weather.

Two sullen green eyes drifted upward, ever twinkling in the company of his loved one although dim mixed between the static of guilt and idiocy no amount of scratching and lost blood could fix. "No, I meant… oh…" and it fell, the sound of metaphorical metal masked by the crying skies reflecting the bittersweet balance teetering in the unoccupied empty space connecting them, pliable like a fresh batch of emotional Play-Doh keen on being sculpted to a distinctively divergent tune sung by their entwined souls. "Oh." A steady breath of fortuitous respite dropped his shoulders after the lone line of conversation brought upon a complete change, trying and failing to conceal a humble smile and succeeding a tiny shake of his fringe into his face. "Hi."

Dante saw past the astute tactic, leaving the brass handle to tuck the offending strands behind the man's ear at the speed of light and forced Lars' next-level flushed handsomeness to shine, profoundly contrasting the suffused shades of grey gloom pictured around him. "That's all you're giving me?" Soft as cotton candy, the query misplaced its efficacy in the mock distress seeping past the sieve of his solid nerve and commitment. "You force me out of your apartment without proper explanation and all you have in your back pocket is 'Hi'?"

Lars inclined to the velvet touch fifteen times better than he was on the way to the shop. "At least I know you're talking to me."

The ruthless soldier caught his eye not daring to move out of the comfortable position; the smaller man scoffed at the accusation and mirrored the tiny head tilt, grossly and unashamedly bewitched by the glassy orbs. "Me? Not talk? What alternate timeline are you living in?"

That made sense, his incredible smile confirming the shared space and timeline. "Can I come in?"

Denying that voice had a whole section of Hell dedicated to it. "Yeah. Please." The gentle reply caused a ripple in the falling raindrops as he reclaimed his limb and moved out of the doorway, watching the incubus reach behind him for a hefty black box that had been veiled since his arrival; the brushed polycarbonate groaned in complaint of his immense strength heaving it under his arm in one fell swoop, being cautious on the misleading mini step over the threshold and setting it standing up straight next to Dante's staircase: the five foot rectangular scabbard was held together by four spaced industrial strength interchange clips that inflicted injury when not dealt with in the correct manner and order, a mechanism built inside the seam to prevent the sword being accessed by anyone other than the true owner; and on the front, a symbol sandblasted in grainy red shined proudly unlike anything seen in the shop's personal branding. The twin closed the door quietly and followed the trajectory of steam to stand in the middle of the room as he watched the crate's balance perfected by the compulsive disconsolate. "Is that what I think it is?"

Lars looked over his shoulder at the hybrid scratching the inside of his palm. "You can do with it as you please, but my brother and I think he should have it. He's ready."

"We think so too – I'm making breakfast to soften the blow."

He did a surprised one eighty at the mutual revelation coming from his mouth. "Really? You're agreeing with me?"

He stood, the penetrating blues held on route as he joined Dante. "Should I be offended by that?"

"Not at all," said Lars, taking the last few strides to stand directly in front of the demon, skewing his face in every course a compass of avoidance would point. He wished to go a few more light years before the unsightly blackhead of the subject matter popped into existence, aligning his thumbs on either end for less painful and messy aftermath using minimal dilution to choke his words in reflection rather than pure concession of his imagined insecurity. His gaze floated to the aloof cerulean sparkling in fascination and patience discarding the default position when he got serious. "Dante-"

"In a minute." His full comprehension of the partisan oncoming exchange was frightening, but his mind and body sung in want for the kiss inches away, confident in his trepidation to sneak one without the other party latching onto his obvious plan. To cheat their inner true forms was the unlisted and unnamed eighth cardinal sin, both of them leaning in by an invisible force ticking to zero on its tolerance scale which had had enough of their faked resolve for the sake of the other and immediately fell to position as if possessed by their savage longing gone unquenched. His giant hands quickly wrapped around Dante's neck pulling it to its final resting place while he pushed deeper with his tongue, moaning in acquainted terrain as the gap between them receded in haste. Lars' bare skin scorched the conflicting cold of the sneaky hands travelling up his cotton top, clawing down from the centre to his slim waist line and edging on the elastic of his briefs to make half of his intentions clear, immodestly taking control of the stolen organ before both of them lost their senses and the purpose of the visit conveniently trapped amid the feathers of Dante's continental pillow. The salvaged tongue hovered above the demon's bottom lip, aiding his teeth to graze along the spots marked by his imminent hunger and disproval of doing the right thing. A teasingly saccharine smile enveloped his face, angled upward in the vice of his partner. "Coffee?"

The detective's heart soared in content at the face of unalloyed happiness glaring back through half-lidded, glazed eyes. "Please," he replied, stealing five slow seconds to kiss his forehead gently, laying his own on the sweet mark. "I'm so sorry."

The red devil found it difficult to ignore the shaking frame and breath standing before him. "Let's talk in the kitchen. I need to get you out of your head…" Just the way he did with Nero when depressive spells shook his humanity and his mind ran wild with unjustified disappointment; it usually took one good smacker to the head, but sometimes he needed more, being pulled into the cooking fortress and right as rain after one cup of his specialty concoction, compelling a caffeinated grin long enough to make him believe it was out of his own volition and later becoming a credible addition to his vein as the bad mojo discreetly left the upturned corners of his mouth without knowledge. He grabbed Lars' hand and dragged him forward in the hopes he wouldn't catch on, getting as far as the edge of the dining table and felt the uselessness of his actions against the nearly seven-foot anchor become a dead weight looking to the wall that separated Nero's bedroom from the rest of the house. Unlike the singularity of supersonic hearing, the incubus bore the burden of seeing through brick and concrete, inappropriately marvelling the spectacle on display for no one else. He spun to the half-hidden face for confirmation, his impromptu internal giggle invalidating the hand over his mouth.

"Huh?"

Dante vaguely nodded, his body trembling under the lid of self-control. "What part of that confuses you?"

"Not confused per say," he said, raising a single – approving – eyebrow and pursing his lips at the milky antics drawing his habitual attention. "I've never seen Vergil naked."

Really; of all the discrepancies to pick apart… "That's what you're seeing?"

"You don't think I know Vergil has one setting when it comes to sex and Nero by some miracle won't want to be sawed in half?" Lars threw him a comically disgusted face. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

And just like that the tables were turned. "I hope you know I can't see what you're talking about-"

"Fuck, they're really going at it aren't they?"

Dante sauntered to his side gawking at the same wall as a joke. "He doesn't have one setting."

Lars played along, pointing frantically. "That gets worse?!"

"Mhm-hmm. Depends on which end you're on. Come on, I know you're stalling."

He should have known he'd see through the act, trying hard not to seem impressed and keeping his face forward as Vergil tangled his fingers in Nero's hair, pulling the boy's arching back flush on his chest and guiding his head over his left shoulder, his arms slithering across his stomach and hips in a sensuous vice that could sting for weeks. The elder twin sunk his teeth deep into the heated flesh at his neck that compelled the boy's eyes shut and his mouth even wider, vocalising a silent threat that would never be acted upon; in a lust provoked craze, he harnessed sufficient control over his hands to reach behind him, clutching a fistful from his eventual demise and crunched at his scalp in cadence with the repeated thrusts pulsating his form, each one unique and inching him closer to his delectable release. His other hand glided down his sweaty skin and found his erection, clenching loosely on the shaft while minimal exertion pumped more fuel to his insurmountable fire, crying out Vergil's name like a mantra to the sex god on his knees behind him. Lars stuck his tongue in his cheek to refrain from comment, unconsciously licking from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Do you wanna know what they're doing?"

IT'S A TRAP! IT'S A TRAP! DO NOT ANSWER; I REPEAT, DO NOT ANSWER. "Have we done it before?"

They had been together for centuries. They must have stumbled upon it at some point. "Possibly."

"Then no thanks. I don't need that in my mind."

"Doesn't help that it's in mine, so pick your poison."

The hybrid sighed at his logic, knowing exactly which head he was thinking with. "Lars, give them some privacy. Watching won't do you any good if they walk out seeing you stare at a blank wall." He walked to the destination on his ownsome opening the oven door to peep the spliced creation. "If Vergil catches you I'm not helping." Turning it off, he looked for the face attached to the scuttling feet stopping short at the coffee machine fiddling with the beans and measuring scoops to blend in with the environment sans the knowledge of the how the awfully complex contraption worked. "No no no, you be pretty in that corner. Last time you touched that it was foaming."

"That's meant to happen, sweetie-"

"Not at the power cord." Lars set the equipment back where he found them, nodding at the truth in his statement and holding up his hands in surrender, crab-walking to his allocated portion gestured by Dante's index finger. "Besides, I'm gonna need the strong one for this conversation and you don't know the recipe."

The detective folded his arms as he snuggled onto the counter, observing his Alpha work his magic on the modern device in seven second flat, flipping the switch and hearing the buzz of the grinder prepare the inevitable delight. Retrieving the vanilla gelato and whipped cream from the freezer and fridge, the twin tossed it to the warmer grasp who caught the entire tub with one hand as he slipped back into the pantry for the not-so-secret weapon transforming the shut-down mood to a talk fest that could made Shakespeare cry in admiration; the chocolate and hazelnut liqueur mix shook proudly in one hand and an extra half slab in the other, ballooning his cheeks for a returned strawberry on Lars' arm placing his shared recovery next to the plastic container. Lars smirked to the attempted humour, utterly awed at the creature to his left and his unbreakable soul leached in composed metier for them both; in times of dire stress, he was always and would continue to be his pillar of strength for the remaining years he chose to bear by his side, maintaining his faultless track record as the best ear and logical sage anyone would ever need from time to time – like now – with a good knock to his subconscious and resolute brain back to equilibrium for the day to go on as 'normal' as it should. Lars took his time eyeballing the buffet while his laced fingers drummed to a beat in his own head; Dante stared into his own version of space awaiting the beep to signal the coffee's completion. "Why are you staring?"

One bad aspect about being dreamily in tune with one another was the consequence attached to certain actions – his trained stare burned differently as the intention changed restricted only by the ropes of their creativity. "You're perfect, you know that?"

Dante called bullshit. "The longer you take to spill, the more nervous I get. I hate when you get in this zone by yourself and all I have to go by are comfortable silences."

He wasn't wrong, and it didn't bid well with either; he scooched closer to the twin and wrapped an arm around his neck, playing with the tips of his silky locks that earned a purr from the badass hunter. "We don't have t-"

The soft buzzer sounded, shuffling between intervals of annoyance and quiet alerting the closest person to its plea of needing a good feel-up in highlighting a bright orange spot to be prodded. "Hold that thought," said Dante, spinning on his heel to quell the machine with a single touch and bringing the full pot with him, setting it next to the family and ducking down for the proper mugs to construct the monstrosity: he scooped one serving at the bottom of each cup and doused the creamy ball in a nutritious layer of liqueur to fuse with the liquescing dessert component; the coffee followed, a traditional bitter blend minus the unpleasant residue filled until one centimetre from their peaks, topping it off with a whipped cream spiral and grated shavings of chocolate to nibble while it cooled to a reasonable drinking temperature. The bigger mug was handed to Lars as the maker took his spot directly opposite, relaxing against the liquor cabinet for his own safety. "Okaaaay, go."

A sip was taking in unison. "I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning, preferably."

'Good,' Dante thought, holding his red mug in his less predominant left hand for his ring finger to glint in the spotlights above, catching the sweet tooth's dreamy gaze while trying not to choke on his drink: the carved onyx looked fantastic in contrast to his pale skin, its intent as heady as it was beguiling to anyone proffering a glance at its exquisite creation while pleased at its eternal resting place, openly declaring the avenue to his future ending with the second of its kind swinging around Lars' neck. "You're wearing it."

He dipped his head, gnawing the flat lukewarm ceramic. "I know you said not to, but I realised I didn't know why you said that. So fuck it." He took every opportunity to show it off, swapping hands and suggestively scratching his collarbone in a dramatic pose that coerced focus to shift to his custom-made engagement ring, playfully overemphasising each movement to complement its significance. "But you were saying something."

Lars was at a loss for words watching the black jewellery like a hawk hypnotising him as it came closer, obediently slurping his nectar while incoherent thoughts raced through his mind like lightning and lifting his spirits to the borders of Heaven where it would remain, forgetting priority on Earth's plane and leaving him a sexy shell incapable of proper intellectual capacity. He allowed the last of the scolding liquid to burn his throat, laying his mug in the sink. "God, I love you so much."

His pained expression sent a reel of uncertainty Dante's way. "That's not what you wanted to say-"

"I need to. I don't say it enough." He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and crossed his legs, shaking his hair out of his face. "And I wish I could admit how ridiculous this is gonna sound-"

"Understand that anything you want to bring to my attention I take seriously. There's little you'd get riled over and seeing you like this puts my heart in my stomach, because all I want to ask is whose ass I have to kick for doing this to you. It's my duty to make sure you don't go through shit alone. It's my job to keep you happy, regardless of what has to be done. I made a promise to you in front of my father and our siblings that I'd take care of you by any means. Whatever the problem, big or small, you know you can come to me; I'm here for that reason. I wear this for that reason." Raising his left hand in accent, he chose to avoid the darkening glower by bolting his view to the red design on the box. "It hurts when you think you can't come to me. You're better at everything and I get that, but I don't know what went through your head to convince yourself this was okay to do." Dante finally met his eye, an odd smile gracing his melancholy stance. "I take pride in being your person. I like knowing that you trust me with what you're thinking. But to answer your question, I love you too." He slowly and delicately ran his hands down the closer arm and brought the warm hand to his lips to calm the lunacy in his chest, trailing a path of little kisses across the many joints. "It isn't ridiculous. You're in pain. I despise it." His voice cracked through the last three words and sent Lars' world out of orbit, a massive chunk getting lodged in his throat. "No convenient amnesia. I'm warning you."

The bigger man squared his jaw, absorbing the decree and its magnitude if not adhered to. "Noted." Inhaling deeply, his shoulders fell against the brave façade serving interference from the tears welling too small to fall freely down his face.

Dante cut him off for underplaying his turmoil any further, finishing his liquid energy and putting his cup in the sink, leaning on the marble in necessity to be close to him. "Come on. Try me."

* * *

With one last thrust, Vergil released his otherworldly embrace on the human and watched him collapse onto his bed with the gravitational force of five orgasms yanked one by one, bouncing on his back close to his array of cushions and oxygen deprived at the sudden serenity of the demonic girth no longer thawing his tender walls. Nero's baby blues shut tightly, blinking life to the dryness of the past two and a half hours staggering for his mind's sake and seizing air in the hopes of nominal damage owing to the possessive thirst of the cyan creature sealing their fates in the most delicious way possible. His partner fell next to him with plenty of energy in reserve, politely smirking to his boyfriend while wiggling his arm under the boy's neck. "Today is going to be interesting."

Not a truer word had yet been spoken. "Indeed," he said, flipping to his left and burying his face in the broad chest soundlessly heaving bits of lost breath. "You have to show me how you do that."

He pulled him in, feeling his way down the smoothness to rest on Nero's hip. "Back and forth. You know that by now."

"My ass – that was something else."

And it was, but his curio would have to wait for the simple way out of his convoluted thinking. "That was no different to how we typically make love."

Nero nestled into his naked frame, itching for a momentary chuckle against the toned muscle. "You gave it a title; trust me, you felt it too."

Would his reign of terror truly end if he meant to say that on purpose? "Come on. Nap time."

The teen shook his head at the blissful scent of Vergil post-sex almost eager to oblige the suggestion. "I need to get breakfast ready." Although a sound argument, he made no effort to motivate the sentiment to action, spellbound in the safe and cosy hold. "Dante will have my head."

That would never be the case, albeit the better excuse to latch onto rather than lavish feasts of experimentation and liking from his brother's end, spouting casualties in a carb-induced frenzy made worse by his three mandatory cups of coffee. "He's already in the kitchen, Nero."

His name sounded magical as it sprung on the walls of his memory, oozing through his thick stubborn skull to rest at the forefront of his morality numbed in afflicted lust. "I can help-"

"You most certainly will not." Vergil held him stronger, his arms curling around the amazing body afraid that letting go would burst their bubbled cocoon where only they existed as an absolute pair below the resident overcast sky and fluffy sheets preserving the warm nostalgia embodied in their cuddle. The morning fell host to more surprises as he kissed Nero's forehead together with an enthralling tempo on his back, tracing circle upon circle on the broad, milky canvas he now called his. All his. "A little longer. For me." He drove a hard bargain, one that the boy had no willpower to fight. "You can tell him it's my fault." Their eyes connected in a blue vortex swirling them farther into the endless void they returned from, drawing them in once again by the skin of their teeth and hopelessness of will to deter the trip, happily accepting the obtrusive turn of events better than any boundaried utopia neither of them could think up. A burst of energy pulled Nero's body on top of him, spreading his legs for ample room and prospect to the playground of the human's fantasies. "All… my fault." Vergil lightly squeezed his butt positioned in a faultless straddle, kneading life into his upper thighs before forcefully clamping him to his chest. As tantalising as the script may have seemed, Nero enjoyed veering on his own path more, ducking into the crook of the strong neck at his disposal and moaning his content at the sweet taste of forbidden territory, untouched and craving a good work through until the demon had enough. The stoic brother gripped the strands on the back of his head and scratched his scalp – the international standard of 'don't stop until I tell you' – and he indulged, biting deeply on the pale skin and sucking on his flesh the way he liked; the receiving end pressed his head harder into the pillow, cracking a hellish smile witnessed by no one.

Vergil stared at the ceiling in measured, passive lungfuls to not wake the cute snoozing creature curled on his torso, splayed fingers on the rising and falling pectorals as if protecting the precious air leaving the demon; his milky digits twirled around the relaxing muscled landscape under the covers, softly trailing the index and middle down Nero's spine and sneaking in his adorability quota for the month – literally – behind his back. His icily requited glare looked solemnly out of the window, timing the patter of the raindrops contra to the heartbeat resonating on his ribcage and lay mesmerised by the overwhelming calm enveloping him, surreal as a concept and even more so brought to life after bursting the cork on the tetchy bottleneck of his congealed fate unknown only to himself, fizzing beneath a tight glass airlock of his mindfulness that contained no secret to the others picking him apart bit by bit in search of the fragility gnawing from the inside out. He pursed his lips at the natural Morse code tapping away unrestrained, choosing to fall victim to the signs directing his attention to the unbeknownst sleeping beauty dreaming in the purest form of bliss – the kindest of kisses met the boy's crown, dwindling in the almond vanilla scent radiating from every pore of his naked body, moving the arm wrapped on the small of his back to comb through the strands in the hopes of stirring him gently, hearing a tiny grumble below his chin in defiance of the notion that pulled him from his cocoon of euphoria. Nero perched adorably grumpy, a lidded gaze of annoyance to the societal norm of waking up. "You are the only reason I'm not breaking anything in this room."

The human psyche always intrigued him, tilting his head at the discord of condition and corollary chosen as the blight of their reality. "I'm the only reason you woke up."

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna blame you," he said, dipping his head to lightly peck his cheek before he scrambled to the edge of his bedside, rubbing life into the back of his neck and shoulders.

But Vergil had not been prouder. "You learn quickly."

"I've had enough time to learn, thanks." He had, during the first week in his new home in fact, and what he and Dante engrained in that amazing brain of his was the simplest of rules seldom followed depending on what limbs they could offer as tribute for the glitch in their recollection: it's not always his fault, but when it is, it isn't. Every finger pointing Vergil's way broke immediately, twisting the blame back to the owner of the finger. This was not to be obscured with the instances he admitted responsibility to; those were traps with sharp teeth laced in poisoned honey and getting caught was as painfully sticky as it sounded. That reasoning alone called for no opposition, reigning true when he did things he considered mutually beneficial, an appropriately stretched theory for the isolated character preferring each action conducted close to the vest. Giving up the pursuit for his scattered pyjamas, Nero walked over to his wardrobe and plucked a fresh coupling, throwing them on in the incorrect order and too quickly looking over his shoulder to note not a single movement made under his covers. "Come on, get dressed. I'm hungry."

A hand found a bare hip in wait of a reply, staring at the outline of his dark sheets conforming to the heavenly contours of Vergil's body as he defied his category of convention, folding over the corner in a sadistic whim to set his imagination alight just below his belly button. "That's a contradictory statement."

And yet, the anomaly stretched for his eyes to feast on still had to hit home, that it was all his to lavish and worship and pamper, nimbly pinching his wrist when his lover decided to suddenly climb off the spongy material and abandon the double layered requiem keeping his decency intact and encouraging blood flow to… other places. "Just… one second." He stuck a lone digit in the air; it usually spelled trouble, but the twin was in no rush. "Okay. We're clear."

The feigned ignorance made it so much better. "Clear for what?" Nero simply blinked, giving ample time for the gorgeously bare behind to now be draped in full cotton and standing at his bedroom door as if Nero were the one delaying their breakfast. "Door's over here."

He could kill him, rolling his eyes aptly while stepping heavy making his way across the room. "Sleep with your eyes open tonight."

Vergil half smirked when he reached his side. "Sure," came the unneeded retort, opening the door without losing sight of the quiver wracking the strong, human frame and nodding to the world beyond the safe confines, standing off to the side within scope to grasp Nero's hand as he walked and linking their fingers without time for the boy to blush at his own pace, feeling another blue gaze burn the back of his head since turning to stare at the older twin. "What is it?" With no intent of hiding his pink cheeks, Nero looked between their hands and the exquisite face attached to it. "Should I not-"

"No," he said, clinging stronger. "Don't say it… You took me by surprise, that's all."

The devil nodded curtly. "I told you, didn't I?" This time he took the first step to the dining table, hearing a nervous scuttling of feet in his wake as Dante and his infamous smile came into view, frozen and proud whilst manhandling bowls of shaved and melted chocolate over from the stove top onto the adjacent counter facing them: he kept a keen eye until they took their seats next to one another for the time being, the younger man far less confident in the impulse that sent his soul floating from of his body. Vergil couldn't be less bothered by the 'aaaaawwwwwww' ghosting the shape of his brother's swollen lips, shooting poisoned arrows in the doughy comprehension of their entrance. _Be nice, okay?_

His sibling looked offended. _When am I ever not nice?_

 _I forced him out of bed; give him a few minutes._

 _I wasn't planning on saying anything, but I'm tempted with the permission._

He dipped the arrows in tree sap for a longer lasting sting. _I will intervene if I must-_

"Breakfast is a little different today. I hope you don't mind."

Nero lifted his head in fascination, frowning upon closer inspection of the massive wind-up toy hurrying to every corner of the kitchen. "What happened to your hair?"

Thankfully the door of the oven was reflective and nearby, the man volatile until the mess earned the title of neutral chaos. "Good morning to you too. Did my hair distract the silence of your post-sex haze?"

 _Not his fault-_ "I don't have that-"

"Don't sass me. Before you go around telling yourself it doesn't exist, I beg you to tell me what was racing through your mind a millisecond before my hair conveniently undid the knot in your undies…"

He couldn't take his brother too seriously. _I can tell you if you would like to know._

The older twin now too took interest in his words rather than finding a verbal loophole out of the jam, confident as the boy's mischievous side triggered with the light-hearted banter he was expecting and a chance to impress the stoic figure sitting to his left. "But I'm not wearing any underwear."

They saw it coming, dressed in the traditional garb of his trademark spin to indirectly dig his hole deeper, buried up to his neck barely above sea level and too preoccupied with leading them down a stray trench instead of incriminating said truth past his lips. His thinking took a standstill, however, running off the beaten path to create his own rollercoaster of conspiracy when the glorious sound erupted from nowhere: frightened at first, Nero – up to his neck in psychological grainy sand – turned slightly to uncover the origin of the brief yet mindboggling noise of ethereal delight hitting him square in the stomach and coating the grey matter between his ears in a thin film of gold speckles as if gifted by God himself. Vergil's hiccup of six second laughter dazed his frame to the core, watching in awe at the smile closing his eyes in strain and amusement. Dante muted his giggle in favour of the audible sovereign reverberating the walls of the abode, winking at the human seeking the hidden camera crew patient outside his front door readying a top-class bamboozle the instant he found himself believing it. "And that, ladies, is how you evade answering a question like a gentleman."

He found none, genuinely perplexed, the sweltering life returning beneath his belly. "Are we going to gloss over the fact that Vergil just laughed?"

Cue the resumed default setting, filtering the last few morsels from his system and cleared his throat, slanting for a worthier angle to answer his query. "But that was funny."

He didn't get it and neither did the busybody cleaning the glass coffee mugs only for special occasions; the teen slid his hand to his thigh, squeezing mildly at the past few moments springing in his head. "I've never heard you laugh that way before."

"You'll have to wait another seventy years for the next one. Now who's hungry?"

A single eyebrow raised in tandem with his face drawn to the crafty position of the boy's hand, giving him an unceremoniously stern look while licking his lips to unload a leash of inappropriacies to the motion but subsequently bit his tongue, flicking his pupils to the counter and settling on a deep grumble of 'go'. One word was the record to beat, Nero being no stronger to the threatening tone and significance should he deny the order, standing up slowly with the sharp demonic jaw's movements keeping him company on his short trip to the outstretched arm holding…

…an ice cream cone? For breakfast? "Like I said, a little different."

Nero held it in his hand like the Dendera Zodiac, quite staggered at the creativity composed in the eight-inch monstrosity dripping in glucose and carbs. "Have I told you you're my favourite?"

The boy took a nip from the supposed dessert, cracking the milk chocolate on the faux swirl permitting the extra creamy titbit its proper airtime down his long throat. "Don't feel bad, Verge. Sugar always wins."

The duo twisted in sync, disappointed their insulting repartee made no visible etch on his unfazed facade. "Foolishness, Dante. He's held bigger things in his hand."

Said with a straight face.

Dante looked impressed.

Nero choked on his second bite.

* * *

All three hellish beings took utmost care with their crepe-turned-cone-filled-with-ice-cream-turned-mini-cheesecake-whipped-cream-swirl-covered-in-chocolate, slowly creeping to the end and dreading the fact that it would soon be a vague experience they savour in their mind's vision, maintaining a silence in reverence for the delicious soldiers currently in sacrifice to the tummy gods. Now sitting next to one another, the brothers were even in their munching, alternating amid breaths and bites and providing entertainment for the lone ranger sitting obediently on the other side of the table; he watched diligently, cautiously, being certain to hold his tongue and continue ravaging the innocent spongy goodness miles away from any comment that bubbled to the surface. Vergil glanced over his portion in its final stages seizing the younger glower, fuelling the ardour without missing a beat to the identical man sharing the spotlight. "So…" interrupted Dante, sliding the pointy end and its chocolate innards until it disappeared passed his plump lips. "Are you a proper couple now?" He chewed and chewed, sprinkling the crumbs between his fingers on the varnished oak. "The hand holding was cute and all but one half of this is Vergil and I'm getting my monkeys to cackle in unison. Simply curious to know which side you're on-"

"The good one." The older demon replied calmly, cutting him off at the cliff where the balance of his willingness to be open broke off in chunks and fell to the black sea below.

"Prove it." It was easily overlooked how protective he was over the teen granted the chagrined history of consequence he sought to right in the medley of the single wrong that changed the course of his reality. "He's investing a lot in this and I want you to be sure-"

"He said he was going to try. That's more than I bargained for."

The soft disruption from the human startled him, obliterating the line of artificial justified irritation he was going for. 'Understood' he thought, recognising the effort of dragging more than five words out of Vergil and the immediate determination in conviction to their established coupling. "Will that make you happy?"

Undoubtedly, but Nero would take the backseat when it came to a frank display on just how much. "Until he realises he can't live without me, it sounds good for the time being…"

The younger twin flipped the switch and rotated to his brother, smiling sincerely to the juxtaposed blank expression under interrogation. "Are you okay with that?"

Such a simple question, yet the weight it carried was nothing compared to anything he'd come across, bearing his previous relationship in mind and how tumultuously difficult it was seeing the short end of the stick with his own eyes. "This won't be a phase."

And that's all he wanted to hear. He felt selfish and rightly so, aiming to polish the chest of cobwebs tucked far too deep in the man's subconscious. "I want you to work. You're both the happiest I've seen, and this is nowhere close to your final form. But I don't wanna be the only one excited for this."

Vergil examined the itchy twist contorting Dante's features, reconciling his glee and venom in a pried beam that formed a straight line where his mouth should have been and echoing his brother to the T on a good day, swaying the conversation away from anything that wasn't a definite to Nero's future. There was a steady, worthwhile build-up and a mix of warmth and tenderness that went with it, knowing the basic flaws of the teen's irrationality in shamelessly diving head first with a surreptitious and resilient vice learned from his twin guardians as an important tool in life and the darker millennia after, and the sheer heft of his pride for the boy was insurmountable, coming close to the tight-capped sentiment for his statuesque twin untried in the art of spectacle… until now; and if anything said brother would take the bait, looking gravely stern at the implication of Dante's thought process in the presence of company – something he hadn't done since the day of their upsurge as they made permanent residence on the Earthly plane. "Do you not trust me, brother?"

"I want to." He steeled his everything on par with the tempting futility gawking back. "More importantly, I want you to trust yourself with what you're giving him and vice versa."

"Nero trusts me. Can that be enough?"

Resonating, deeply wounded threat vibrated in every syllable spoken daring a fair retaliation on counterpart soil; the red sibling came from a profoundly dark place that Vergil completely understood, wanting nothing but the best in every facet for two very important people in his life. It was clear from their three-way conversation the previous day that they were independently devoted somehow, with Dante playing the role of neutral ground and fighting on the side lines for the concerned parties to know what they were in for. True, Vergil had known love once before, but that held circumstances different than with the human trusted in their care, even if – and he had to be honest – they suited one another far better than any pairing he'd known, and he had every right to feel hurt at the accusation, actively aiming for the result of picking at the healing scab on the elder's heart he didn't believe was there. Nothing stung like being underestimated at a decision he'd taken his time with making, assessing imaginary pros and cons for some eventual outcome sans outside influence. Like he said, this was entirely different, and perfectly familiar in a melting pot of lost time and love potently playing every hand like the experts they weren't. He put his hands up in surrender, seeing the glint in his brother's not so empty gaze and the diffuser on the other side of the table kindly awaiting his words of wisdom. "Keep your word. He deserves nothing less."

Although not his fault, the former was destined for disaster, seeing two hearts break centuries apart and deepening the visible fracture between the two pairs of brothers for a short time after the order fell through its cracks. The stakes were higher now. All five of them knew that. "I've said all I needed to say. He knows where I stand."

 _Not on your own. Got it._ He may have thought he got away with it, but Dante witnessed the jinx of his comment splinter a shrewd grin as he finished his breakfast, swallowed, grateful to his ability of reading between the lines. "Okay," he said softly, rubbing his legs to stand from his chair. "Don't move; I'll be right back."

"We won't." Nero needed little to slice the buttery tension, sitting quietly and watching their egos unfold as they stoked each other's demonic fire, prodding with sticks to the point of no return and spilling the beans veiled in twinsane riddles, their inner halves having a metaphysical go made tougher by Dante's steps further away from the blue equivalent. His sad blues followed his caregiver up the stairs and waited for his bedroom door to squeal his entrance before collecting himself from the shockwave, getting to his feet and passing the short end of the table to perch against the edge, folding his arms to barricade Vergil from staring through him without remorse. "Are you angry?"

The demon blinked, yet the spell kept the boy in place. "Do I look angry?"

A tired sigh escaped him, chewing on his lip looking back to the stairs. "I'm sorry."

"You've done nothing wrong. He is simply warning you about me."

"I like to think I know you more than he gives me credit for." The boy listened intently, tracing the footsteps between the bathroom and wardrobe and hearing a different door whine open, the man ruffling through a bottom corner that must have been reserved for smaller clothes and knocking his fingers on pieces of wood with a tiny 'oowwah' ringing all the way to where they were sitting. "Dante loves you. That was a warning to both of us." With the top half of the house occupied, Nero leaned forward and cupped the right side of Vergil's face, bringing it closer for a stolen kiss to his pale cheek; the devil, however, purposely mistook the effort and turned in its direction, catching it at the corner of his mouth. The initiator pulled back ever so slightly and smiled at the tweak to the twin's neck, his brain mildly circuiting with indecent want at the obtrusive display dying to rupture inside his core. "Not a step further. You'll make things really problematic."

The troublemaker grazed his fingertips along the strong jawline, escaping his position and reclaiming his seat seconds before Dante descended back to the lounge, smelling the underground mines planted by the cause for leave. "Did I miss something?"

Vergil's demon growled inward, a faint buzz in the base of his brother's jaw loud as a siren on high alert no shake of the head could sate; making as if popping his ears, he sent it amplified along their tuned wavelength where the elder showed no inkling of the attack, simply repaying with his signature blank scowl sprinkled in blue terror branded to the receiving end of his cleverness. He had his moments, asking the obvious in the eased atmosphere and Nero's satisfied grin concealed by his breakfast, seen to Dante and lost to the ethereal vision across from him. "What's that you got there?"

The gentle voice broke him out of his telepathic war, bending the upper half of his body to bring attention to his full grasp – plastic cover in the right, a black mini suitcase in his left – and began slowly walking to place both items on the table. "We'll get to this later," he said, sauntering behind the occupied chair and the pair of broad shoulders reflecting his deep breathing, giving them a comforting squeeze. "We have something important to discuss."

In the mess of the morning it must have completely slipped his mind: the papers. Immediately put off his meal, he rubbed his hands nervously in his lap mimicking the quick drop his stomach took along with the sugary content. "I wanted to ask what's next on the docket for me." He wasn't against the notion, but the additional pair of eyes made it more terrifying, more uneasy at the starkly dissimilar relationships he had with them separately. The legality was crucial, but the realm of their understanding of one another surpassed his level with Vergil, justified more based on the announcement of their courtship minutes ago, and now that he overthought that, was that in jeopardy too? Was a stack of papers going to take his life away? If it had the power to give him one in the first place… The teen ultimately looked to the manifestations of worry, both struggling to hold themselves in their seats in need to comfort him, the smell of burned toast sending alarm bells to every hair standing on their back of their necks. "I was hoping we could do this in private."

"We are," he said, quelling his sweaty palms on the cotton pyjamas. "My lawyer has to be present when legal matters are discussed. I want him to be here because things on my side are short and bittersweet and can correct me if need be. It's pretty straightforward, so you have nothing to worry about-"

 _Please breathe, Dante. Drop your shoulders. You're thinking too much._ Upon hearing those aggrieved words, he was ready to up and go at a moment's notice for poignant discretion knowing Dante was capable of handling it by himself, and yet he couldn't move, rooted to the ground and filling the space in imperceptible adorned vocabulary of encouragement for his client doing his best to clarify the answers Nero sought. _It's useless me telling you this, but he can smell fear. If you're scared, he's scared._ Vergil knew him so well it was almost scary to behold the polished gears at work keeping him anchored by his side. "Plainly speaking, the court gave us responsibility until you were eighteen to provide the necessary means of survival: healthcare, food, shelter, safety, emotional security, and education ruling as the foundation surrounding the clause on which we could adopt you. One more criteria we had to adhere to was that our legal hold on you ends when you reach that age. The papers have been invalid for a week." When lawyer mode was triggered, the lines of family and friends blurred the longer the manuscript, attempting a filter on every aspect of understanding laid out in complicated black and white and the grey areas in between to simplify the harsh language of condition stipulated and agreed upon by them. "We will not be kicking you out or taking away your scholarship or cutting your allowance or anything along those lines. Everything you have now has been earned by hard work and is rightfully yours, material accumulation included. We have done everything stipulated to us, and that means that you have a decision to make: the choice to be an adult here or completely on your own."

It was safe to say Nero expected a great deal worse on his end of the seesaw, hovering agonizingly close to the bare ground as his weight tipped his side significantly faster and saved a second before shattering impact, his dangling legs swaying in the air as he soared higher and higher, away from the crushing truth of seclusion and despair. He mentally slapped himself, stupidly thinking there was anything but pure-hearted goodness in his future. "Really?"

The sound of chance was intoxicating, a high pitch to his bass sombre undertone served as one of the highlights to his morning. "According to the state, you're old enough to act on wanting to leave home; no reliance on guardians for… how did you say it?"

Vergil flicked through his memory bank fine-tooth-combing the pretentious jargon "…predisposed societal functioning."

The proper terminology and allusion never ceased to sting. "What he said." Neither could discern Dante's faint chuckle from anxiety or pleasure, letting it play out too unsure of the context to join along. "Nero, we're not going anywhere, but we will support you. We'll assist where we can so that… you're comfortable… wherever you are…"

And as tantalising as the prospect may have sounded to anyone else, he put his hand out shyly, urging the displeased monologue to a stop and the act to fizz into the nothingness it came from. Relief synced the twin's movements, resting a fraction easier in their seats at the halted speech Dante managed to mangle out of his ass. They knew the chance was less than likely yet daunting to ask, knowing the imminent possibility of fleeing the danger-infested nest he called his home. The gravest face met their impartiality, shifting amid the etched glowing moxie in their identical features, his arms falling limp at his sides unable to read the room by the sudden penny that dropped in his head. "I'm comfortable here."

Again, three words. Today was cursed. "Are you sure? I know Vergil will propose the idea of getting your own place down the line-"

"Then if that's the case I have no option but to spend my days with you, correct?"

Nero softly kicked him in the shin, giving him a conceited you-can't-get-rid-of-me-that-easily expression that he welcomed with open arms, finally taking his brother's advice in exhale of the breath he didn't know he was holding. 'No fucking backsies', he thought to himself; too bad Vergil was part of that self-reflection, sneakily biting the corner of his mouth to deviate the seriousness in the upper half of his face. "You have what you want, brother." _Don't forget to breathe. You're turning blue._ A well-timed sneer complimented the single-handed rake through his silky strands, fluffing each layer with a bent bicep flexing like an unorthodox mating call claiming the rightful courtesy it was owed, only to divert the energy to the real elephant in the room. "You can tell him the other news if you want."

"Oh right!" Dante snapped his momentary faze of reality to his subconscious paving the way for the more exciting part of their informal meeting. "Now that you've decided to stay with us a little longer, we've decided to officially… ummmm…" He searched for bigger words and none came to mind. "We want you to be part of the team, Nero. A shareholder in the Devil May Cry name, so to speak."

Watching his face melt from medium interest to complete incredulity was a spectacle equal to a firework in slow motion, burning through the wick and reaching the mixed chemicals in a blasting manner in every colour imaginable – the spectrum harboured no shade of happiness, however, giving the boy a misty glow slicing through the morbidity of the outside world. "Are you serious?"

"Mmmhmm," he murmured, contorting to the big black box minding its own business at the foot of the stairs. "And if you're going to fight alongside us, you'll need a worthy companion."

Nero tracked his line of sight. Vergil tracked his train of thought. "I didn't know he had it made."

The boy knocked his chair to the floor in analysis and grasp of its peculiar size and guessable contents. "Who made what?"

Dante giggled from the outside in, gesturing with an open hand across the lounge. "Open it."

Being told twice wasn't his forte, ignoring the furniture and marching in extra-long strides to the case shielding his part-time occupation as a demon hunter: the vertical standing suitcase impatiently collapsed on its back feeling the enthusiasm pumping in the boy's bloodstream, hitting the tiled floor with a dull yet thick thomp with its soundless contents holding snug in what he guessed was countless layers of paper keeping it in place; his hands slowly worked magic on the clips, becoming marginally distracted by the red symbol on the face of the carrier he couldn't recognise but fell in love with instantly, tracing the bumpy granules of the profile like a kid on Christmas morning meticulously tearing the Sellotape to salvage the pretty wrapping covering his gifts. Lifting the heavy lid, his face lit up in confusion at the pieces laid out in the foam moulds: shiny, delicate, and crafted to perfection in perpendicular and curvy edges alike, the rustic and modern craftsmanship thoroughly intertwined into what looked to be straight from the Underworld; the thick blade greeted him verbosely, swathed in its awesome aura as the central focus of the weapon measuring to two thirds of his height; he picked at the silver trigger and red handle that begged a click in assembly to the gleaming blade, step by step revealing the essence of its purpose and vigour behind the mask of tempered steel and intricate design galvanised on the front censoring the malice of its creation to everyone but it's wielder, doe-eyed and sparkling at his newer prized possession he'd cherish until his last breath. His soft touch graced a long, continuous line along the sleekness, feeling around the sophisticated mechanism in an attempt to configure the order and placement to form the deathly whole deftly named his pride and joy. Nero was speechless, blinking moisture into his dry blues parallel to a gaping mouth swinging back and forth between dimensions to ensure this was truly happening. "How did you do this?"

He couldn't risk looking away in fear it may disappear. "Ask Vergil; he designed it."

In a fraction of a second their gazes knotted, wrapping around the atrocities of the said and unsaid elapsed in the balance amid amazement and authentic intrigue to the genius handiwork, carefully raising both his eyebrows in enquiry and admiration for the unspoken answer. The twin obeyed the silent plea with a mien of his own, shutting down the alpha complex Nero had bubbling in the base of his hips. "Dante asked for the best my brain could handle. The appearance and capabilities were my doing, but Lars bent the fires of Hell to get it as a carbon copy to how I had it on paper."

Not hearing most of what was said, the small human ears perked at the mention of his saviour as he pulled the completed blade from the safe sponge to a jaw-dropping stand, appreciating the imbued love and respect put into its innovation. "Lars… Lars made this?" The missing blueprint was simple enough to follow, pairing the logical positives to negatives with a tiny tweak in each direction to secure the parts in place to build the motorised hilt as explained to the twins as a safeguard, skilfully testing each new fragment's stability and contribution to the bigger picture that stood in front of them all in intensified glory. The lively twinkle to Nero's demeanour standing next to his own masterpiece gave away his pierced heart too many times to count, relishing in its mass, form and styled curvature reeking of potential and power at his fingertips – how and where Vergil pulled the inspiration would die a mystery and without complaint, baffling him more that the demon hit the nail on the head with something he never knew he wanted. "I… I can't… I don't know…" his voice grew small, meek, like his vocabulary eluded proper words in gratitude. "Thank you… so much."

The younger sibling needed to time it just right, although cruel, barely coming close to the imagined reaction they anticipated by the weapon's first impression. "You think that's all?" He wasn't having it. "We'll let you fight without a gun? In normal clothes?" Speaking as if it were common knowledge, he gave away the remaining surprises protected by less security for ease of access – the clothes were obvious enough, folded over the chair with the hanger end pointing toward them, but the smaller package proved more inconspicuous housing a dangerous piece of equipment he wasn't sure he could handle. Nero set the sword back in its pouch, crossed the room and flipped the three metal buckles unsealing it with care, laughing as he caught sight of the double-barrelled six-shot cylinder revolver snuggled comfortably in a bed of bullets and a custom cleaning toolset; he traced the elaborate carving of the elegant blue rose and various accents around it, biting through a sadistic grin and feeling his way to the smooth wooden grip breathlessly calling his name. The twins seemed outright pleased with themselves, satisfied beyond measure with the result of their championship secret keeping. "You seem to have forgotten who lives in this house with you."

Nero's heart couldn't handle the surplus, his body only responding in inaudible nervous jitters. "But why-"

"You deserve it," said Dante, cutting his query in half to obey the light vibrations in his left pocket. Passing him on the way to his room, he nudged the new teammate with his elbow before wrapping his arm around his shoulders, bending low to whisper into his ear. "I've been waiting to give you this for a while now. Take good care of her."

He proceeded to bolt in a straight line, running at normal demonic speed and shutting his door in new record time, belly flopping onto his king bed as dead silence covered up whatever required his attention. Still in shock, Nero steeled his nerve to close the case and move to the softer, less fatal corner of the triplet bombshell. He tugged at the zip and welcomed the onslaught of blue and red, raising his eyebrows in Vergil's direction, his comprehensive eyeball predicting every item to be one size too tight. "Lynette's handiwork."

Of course – who else would they trust? She did this on purpose. "And the gun?"

"Custom made. We cannot tell you by who." Vergil's digits did their uniform tapping on the dinner table, letting all in company know his mind was whizzing for no apparent reason, the inner workings solely revealed should he choose to go against his category of convention that concurrently held a success rate in the lower thousandth percentile. He stood and craned his neck, holding his slanted head as he balled his first and hit the wood in quick succession, the twin raps frightening the boy's soul straight out of his body. "Let's get going then."

He was in the motions of uncovering the rest of his battle attire and the layers hidden in his seamstress' needlework noting the incredible attention to minor details that was her trademark selling point, the soft and light-as-a-feather fabric melting around his hand the more he dived in. The hard whacks pulled him from his premature heaven, zipping the protective covering back to its previously untouched state. "To where?"

Where else? "You need practice."

"NOW?"

"Dante needs to be somewhere in three hours, and you will not be occupied by your freaky puppet suit friends screaming your head off." His voice was spicy and deep, demanding and intense, so velvety it dripped out of the corners of his swollen lips and fell callously to the undeserving floor, now in a daring grimace taunting Nero to flout the suggestion set in concrete in his mind. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

And just like that he vanished, leaving him to his own wits to recover from the mental blitz in costly payback to their earlier glitch. The boy grabbed his clothes and stole a glance behind him, blowing his first strawberry to his new sword and gun and the journey they would be on together. He turned the handle and pushed his door inward, screwing his view up to the sound of running water in a basin. "They're animatronics."

* * *

Nero adjusted the calf-length denim jacket over his sleeveless red jersey, pulling the hood to flop over the faded blue to show off the navy base layer snug underneath, inching on his hip and by default tucked into the darker blue Levi skinnies clinging to his muscled legs hidden further behind thick yet comfortable brown boots completing his official place in the threesome. He took a deep breath, blowing against the door to the underground playpen and fluffing at the hairs standing straight up on his neck, entering the unpredictably light atmosphere with his teacher lounging on a bent leg in his favourite corner and scrolling on his cell phone as he lifted his head in response to the new occupant walking with assurance onto the mat, grabbing the resting sword on the wall parallel to where he stood; the blue coat spread its feathers on route to the newbie, a cold shivered greeting by a thoughtful, menacing gaze he knew canny to the older demon. "Take that off."

He mentally took a step backward and misjudged the intent, looking at his outfit as the entity it was. "I thought you said we were gonna train-"

"Strength training is gradual. It does no good being in the deep end with me as your opponent." Vergil gestured to the above two layers with the gold tip of his sheath, complacently poking at the fibres as if to make them move on their own. "You're wasting time." It made sense in the boy's head, but he still couldn't believe what he was hearing – from him of all things – and evidently gave up the fight before it started, prudently removing the flowy denim and tight sectioned material that didn't have the gusto of impact in difference for his looming median performance and threw it on the closest bench-press, resuming his earlier position to rescue the blade in mental preparation for the whooping of his lifetime – a training session for improvement was one thing, but one involving a purebred hybrid consisting of two of the most dangerous species on the planet was a nightmare he would openly choose not to relive; add to it a power hungry sadomasochistic trait and you have yourself a deal no rational human would take, except for the very one standing frozen in a soundproofed room seven feet underground staring at the handsome epitome of a bad dream to haunt the rest of his days. But something felt off. Something wasn't right, and yet he failed to notice said inconsistency practically staring him in the face. "Before we begin, there is something I have to show y-"

"OH MY GOD, WHERE'S YOUR SHIRT!"

The garment made no sense until its deviation was discovered: no figure-hugging vest and no folded cravat – just the formal bottom half and the flawless coat billowing above his naked chest in sneak peeks deliberately calculated to catch the trainee off guard. "I never train in my shirt."

There was no way he could confirm or deny it; was that the beauty to the trick? "So, there's no problem taking off your coat then?"

Vergil's aura was clear as day, suffocating the human and his moral compass. "I wanted a handicap."

"And I don't need your pity." Oh, what a convincing argument, considering the illogical brilliance at play in favour of satiating the hankering of his naughty side and cockily tapping his foot on the plastic while Vergil called his hand in a 'you asked for this' expression, turning to face the opposite wall while his nude back slowly made its debut underneath the powerful material as it fell from his shoulders, folded into a neat square and tossed across the room. "Now, you were sayeeeeeeeeeng…"

Nero smelled the gratified sneer as the elder demon faced him, blushing whilst clearing his throat of the sudden voice crack smacked by the onslaught of unadulterated talent flowing through every bulging chunk of muscle. "Pull the trigger." He mindlessly clenched the hilt with his mind broiling in the cavernous pits of Heaven delineating along the deep channels of his torso, screwing his wrist by memory and revved the customised gear shift integrated into the handle, extending his arm in alarm at the hot glowing sword scorching to the tip and searing the air around it, the bright orange colour receding up its length back to its place of instigation. "Two more," he added softly, stepping back and folding his hands on the sealed pommel while the boy did as he was told, toting two extra rotations of the grip until the blade glowed red hot and maintained its fiery badassery to a baffled adversary in dire need of explanation. "That is called Exceed: revving the trigger sprays a flammable propellant across the blade and anything close in proximity, greatly increasing the power of your blows. The maximum output is three revs, distributed in one massive strike or three smaller separate ones. That choice is for you to make." Yamato angrily left his sheath, his wielder readied in his established battle stance as he spoke. "The rule is simple: touch me with your hand, you get a point. When I reach twenty points above you, it's over. Weapons knocked away cannot be retrieved until a winner for the round is decided. Does that sound good?" He became merciless in his trance, voiding tactical strategy and planning that would normally be part of any job they were called to do; if this wasn't the deep end, what did that distant hallucination truly look like? "You have trained with my brother before, correct?"

And Dante swore he'd never told anyone about them. "Well, yes, but-"

"This is no different. Your sword is somewhat lighter than Sparda, so you should be strong enough to do damage. If it seems you are improving, you can have your clothes back."

It did sound good, but at what damn cost? Reality began kicking in, rocking each of his organs in the same way a death-defying unused rollercoaster would. "Please just… dammit, go easy. I'd like to keep my limbs, thanks."

At least Vergil had the decency to hold back on his attack at the end of the poor plea, streaking toward him and knocking his socks into a hostile dimension all the while giving him the most obnoxiously patronising glare he could muster. "That should be the last of your worries," he retorted, following the threat with a quick placid blow to the top of his head courtesy of Yamato's ribbon, flailing aimlessly in front of Nero's furrowed brow. Effortless. Superior. Fast. Infuriating. "One."

He was going to absolutely hate the next nineteen.

* * *

The hybrid was at the peak of relaxation, laying on his back with his arm ruched under his luscious head of hair, a bent leg allowing the sheets on his bed to crinkle between his toes with a stare barren to his ceiling as the phone continued ringing in his ear, looking back to the screen to quadruple check the number he had dialled. The deafening parlotone almost put him in a premature slumber, hoisting himself straight and slumping forward one ring before it hit voicemail and pulling the device from the side of his face, pressing the blinking red icon to end the attempt in contact to the other half of his supposed plan for the day – to end it as it had begun, to him at least, for Nero to finally come face to face with both his past and future dreamily compacted in wells of emotion a mere walk down the street from where they lived. Dante wanted it to be a surprise at either end, but given Lars' history of a hectic schedule he had to make sure beforehand that the brothers would be home and completely unsuspecting of the trial he had up his red sleeves, falling in line of their daily routine and smashed right out of it the second they saw the human's handsome face slowly and surely crumbling to extreme clutter now that he knew who they truly were, tiny flashes of his horror fading away as he put the pieces together snuggling in their arms and praying they never let go. He could see their reactions as it played in the confines of his room; the stages of guilt, recognition, grief and acceptance jumbled out of order and all over their lounge far too busy to pick up the shards of their mental state in the rush of intensity brought alongside their burning love for one another, rushing in desperation for a single touch, anything, to ensure it stood nowhere close to a cruel dream that plagued the poor teen and providing pleasant replacements after four agonising years spent in Schrodinger's labyrinth of dejection he struggled through by himself; and as tough as he wanted to seem, a sliver of his self moaned only in pure darkness ceasing activity in the light that welcomed each new experience pressing him nearer to his dream of ultimate happiness. And today was that day: he asked and Vergil delivered, keeping the boy's mind occupied as best he could and miles from anything suspicious. Lars' dispense was a stroke of propitious genius. The next step was safeguarding Nero's survival to the training… that sounded as though it was going anywhere slowly with Vergil patently showing off his counting abilities.

Dante winced at the clashing weapons, hearing the efforts of a good fight from the disadvantaged side getting a terrific feel of the added sizzling bonus to his sword and the occasional shot out of his gun that never hit its target. The harsh rhythm of their perspiration virtually cancelled the small vibration on his cell, the flashing red light the sole tell of the message awaiting a read status. He crossed his legs cutely and picked it up to recite the note from the man refusing his call. _Hey. Sorry, was in the bathroom. What's up?_

It roughly translated to 'I think you called the wrong incubus and I'll make sure you know your mistake'. Bless him. _Are the two of you gonna be home today? Nero has to go to University and I'm in need of your stew to fill the void for the afternoon._

The planet shuddered at the sarcastic sigh coming from the younger of the Nygård bloodline. _Lars went into work for a bit but he'll be home soon. It's laundry day, so the stubborn ass will be up and down on the roof._

He claimed it calmed him, but the truth was that Hanson couldn't do it for shit. _Cool. We can have some alone time. There's something I want to show you._

 _Dante, I know we have a history and you will always have a special place in my heart, but how many more times must I tell you to go to the doctor for that?_

Good mood confirmed. _Not that dummy._ He saw Hanson begin typing, wanting to throw him off as far as he could. _If memory serves me right, you've seen enough of that._

He stopped, erasing his latest quip to fit the mood of the conversation. _You sired me; you of all demons should know I have no clue what the word 'enough' means._

Oh, that was a good one. _Make me stew and I'll show you._

Dante patted himself on the back for that as Hanson typed again. _I'll make the stew. Lars kept me up all night and I'm in the mood to piss him off._

 _For once we're in agreement._

The following reply took longer than the preceding texts. _This is the second time._ Since when? He spent most of their friendship proving him wrong at every opportunity. _What time were you thinking? I need to do some shopping._

The devil glanced the clock in the right corner of his screen. _How about two? We need to get cleaned up._

Vergil had the reputation of being the image of perfection whenever he left the shop regardless of reason, and a sweaty session was a good excuse for an elongated shower and scrub to achieve it. _I'll have the pot going by then. See you soon._ Dante typed thanks in the dialogue box but the jingle froze his flying fingertips, scoping the new speech bubble at the bottom left. _One more thing: am I telling Lars?_

Nope. Nopity nope to the fifth power of a triangle squared by infinity twice. _He'll smell us anyway. No need._

If it didn't need to be done, Hanson looked the other way with a thumb's up and a heart emoji, possibly giggly at the proposition of food and taking care of them like the old days in the mansion, leaving their empty stomachs in his care at dinner twice a week and spending the leftover days waiting for the next one to roll by, enjoying the taste and nutrition mingled by his skill and knowledge bringing the only mealtimes achieving a positive health statistic in the duration of those seven days. Those thoughts swirled in his emptying brain as he set his phone on the nightstand and got into his napping position, crossing his ankles and propping a pillow to soften the blow of the headboard, lacing his hands in his lap as his head lolled to the right side catching lastly a glimpse of the ring on his finger, a slow sneer gracing his gorgeous face while his eyes shut in haste acting on the involuntary hold sleep had on each part of him, drifting quickly with the slashing of swords below.

* * *

He didn't see it coming, knocked to his knees by the laws of science and followed through with a mediocre tap to his crown mocking his labour and feigned intimacy with another point to Vergil's side of the scoreboard. "Twenty four," he whispered, not needing to remind the boy of the trail by nineteen, one more chance to widen the gap to the checked flag or fail miserably in his quest to reach the level he deserved to be to not have the wool pulled over his eyes against the scum that slipped through the cracks of realm tears that infrequently occurred in the dimensional tilt of two alternate realities knocking against one another, causing life forms to accidentally shift and materialise into the other, wreaking the chaos they knew as the norm in their world. Nero charged his blade as the twin floated backward, handling Yamato and his sheath in each hand respectively and gripping the material readying for the flurry of attacks, the gauge full and the sword glowing in hunger for a few drops of his blood before time ran out: the human dashed forward and swung his sword upward, the drive travelling until the height of the devil's thighs as he resolved to blocking the overall motion and killing the momentum of the teen's confidence and risk to declare the round his. The twin jumped onto the scolding blade and meshed a forward flip over his head to land quickly and quietly on his feet like a cat with magnetised paws, streaking for a deep cut into the unguarded back that was spotted while moving at lightning speed, ignoring the jab to his ribcage in flashing gold and blue with insane focus on the sharper edge coming his way. Nero finally found his break, hitting at an unpleasant angle to the slender devil arm and sending it flying to where his clothes lay in a neat pile, sounding the defeated clinks on the cement floor and resting in the red hood of his new uniform, one of the two faces in disbelief that the odds had at last given him a second chance at redemption however the size. 'Perfect,' thought Vergil, the cocky expression at a given win emanating from the smaller frame reaching for the gun in the holster on his right upper thigh, rapidly firing all six bullets without a single confirmed hit on his recipient that he saw stirring relentlessly but would see a bare-handed victory if he pulled through. Counting as his final endeavour, he revved once and readied a steady blow for a parry of both hands, leaving the hybrid vulnerable for the window to add a point to their current twenty four on five tally and stretching the time longer than the prediction ticking in Vergil's mind. He chose the stronger backhand and put his body weight behind the cut to the exposed collarbone, making him counter higher while he planned to dip to the lower half for a patronisingly gentle touch wherever his hand landed. But his enemy licked his lips and telegraphed his every move, the waistband of his attire flexing obnoxiously with the muscles in his hips under the strain of the oncoming party trick he had to show off and squashing Nero's perception of their abilities as brothers of the same bloodline; palms up in receive, the air in the large space changed drastically in switching to a heavier, unbreathable tone and creating a vortex in the area his hands occupied, fragmented pieces of rare steel forming from nothing and finding its plot of order as the sword materialised in his grasp. Since the first time he'd seen Rebellion it continuously knocked the oxygen from his lungs, glimmering in the faux lighting blinding him in reverence of its astonishing power and size. The mere design intimidated him to the pits of his core, glaring at the sharp edges that must have taken millions of evil souls by this point in its lifespan. The finished weapon exploded the air outward in a violent ripple, the image reminiscent of his carefree sibling and his summon of the metal beast during a fierce skirmish where no moments were lost on flair no matter how cutthroat it may have treated him. Vergil relished the weight of the sword in his hand, holding it askew for the tip of Nero's blade to scrape the flat span composing a high-pitched shriek that sounded as painful as either could conceive. One too many steps forward and he was trapped, flabbergasted, ferociously knocked back as Vergil pushed forward on his own momentum to spin him awkwardly, turning his back on his proposed win.

* * *

Taking the stairs two by two, Dante galloped toward the underground gym where the couple had been going at it for two hours, non-stop, head to head inharmonious metal of old and new, the experience showing in each swing and angled cut resonating through Vergil's vicious training. If the addition were to be a success he had to be drilled to the verge of no return with his flaws acknowledged and refined in exhausting trial and error to match the existing two styles in play to finalise their own deadly trinity, an impenetrable triad of strength becoming kings of the hunt compared to their despicable prey and send them running with their scaly tails between their legs, dissolving into ashy nothingness after being poked by the pointy end of three choices entertaining a pathetically cocky sneer as the ripened cherry atop the tiered, assuaged prism. The younger twin reached for his coat and flung it over his bare shoulders and felt the smooth leather tickle the toned skin consuming his massive chest warping with his descent to madness hiding behind door number two.

He expected little out of the presumed ordinary – his brother with an unfair upper hand – when going for the handle and entered loudly, halting not the huge sword hovering under Nero's chin. Vergil handled a twisted arm with care, standing a sufficient distance for it to be locked in place with speckles of pain to resemble a dislocation still in its socket; the limb nursing Rebellion remained unmoving against both jugulars, glinting innocent intent with simultaneous malice from the tip to its hilt, matching its wielder's eyes flawlessly. He breathed deeply at the boy's neck engrossed in the spike of adrenaline that fell flat in view of the precise blade and its misguided past, leaning in an inch to whisper into the terrified, perplexed ear. "Twenty five."

The student regained life in his fearful state, dropping his tensed frame with the motions of Dante's companion drifting further from his line of sight, rendering his own weapon helpless at the attack's proximity and waited impatiently to be used as per its constructed objective. "How…" he mouthed, turning and soaking in, essentially, Dante in Vergil's shoes. "How did you do that?"

The winner studied the sword in its destructive beauty, humbly thanking the innermost soul for her intuition and assistance. "I am not at liberty to divulge-"

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULLSHIT!" Nero cared less about the loss tackling what was essentially the final boss in already treacherous video game, thrown in without tutorial or helpful messages and adhering to the classic four button combo and dodge manoeuvres, still pending the processing of the shoulder triggers and their uses in combat which would still be too useless this early in the game. Vergil had literally done the assumed impossible in front of his eyes, the very technique that gave his hypothesis of the interchanged bodies the life it didn't need, making his reality easier knowing he cleverly saw through their scheme with that miniscule detail that had, moments ago, been condensed to uselessness. The usual recipe of a few deep breaths would sadly fail him this time around, his chest burning from the oxidation of inhaling the airborne flavour of steel elegance and ruthlessness, accidentally piercing the mat to hold himself steady. "How… in the hell… did you do that…?"

 _Quite easily actually._ But Dante would keep his mouth shut, receiving a slow, eloquently damning smirk from his brother at the comment. "When we're drunk enough to explain what it truly means to share the same blood, we'll let you know."

Said younger twin mentally stored the factoid in his subconscious, noting a pad and pen for the explanation in lecture format and an abstract doodle of an intoxicated Vergil with exact placement in their living room. He crossed the threshold and made his way to the boy, tenderly lifting his face to the light to assess the damage; gone unnoticed by the very outer shell, the cut in his lower lip and right cheek took the cues of their short existence, giving off a small sting as blood dripped down his face for effect and eliciting a quick wince in his determined features. "Will you heal him please? These scars make him tougher than his reputation."

Nero, wounded by the insinuation of his guardian, unfortunately agreed with the reasoning along with the inability to provide a sour expression, sadly circling and wordlessly begging the burn to disappear under Vergil's healing power, stepping forward for rugged treatment of his booboos. The fiend squared his stature and clicked the bones down his spine in descending order, popping the lethal bubble of his own ego and took his first good look at the man who fought his heart out, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with his navy cuff: Lynette had done an incredible job capturing the gist of the initial description and bringing it to life, making a great fit for his first round as a demon hunter in accentuating all the unholy aspects of his insanely toned physique, leaving all and nothing to the imagination at the same time; he knew it would look good but not this good, trusting the words of the seamstress and her convincing accent and knowledge of the teen to whip up a five course meal – and she did. Vergil's appreciation would come much later, his focus penetrating to the last segments of Nero's complaint as the open skin returned to its soft, fleshy hue seen before the brunt of his effort that paid off for his third point. The free sibling went to the fridge and grabbed three bottles of water, unknowingly settling the matter in capping the session to a close. "What was the result?"

After an adroit once-over from his lover, the boy blushed, poking an agitated tongue into his cheek. "Does it matter? He's too fast. It's practically cheating."

Dante tossed one to each of them, taking a seat next to the heap who had no business off the boy's body, shaking his head of the nonsensical reasons that hadn't already pointed straight to Vergil. "Yeah, sounds like him." He gave his brother a wink, taunting him in virtue as he released the seal on his bottle of fizz; his first sip came accompanied with Rebellion beelining toward the centre of his ribcage, flying with immeasurable force to skewer him to the wall, rendering his visit useless apart from being the best sandbag for Vergil's controlled anger and finishing the unbothered sip of his drink as he clenched his jaw to neutralise the effect of the sword chewing his insides for fun. "I love you too."

* * *

Vergil, now partially clothed, sat eerily in a corner drinking his sparkling water, cross-legged and unmoving without any hint of relaxation; his entire frame looked as if remained in strain, confident and weary of his danger repellent surroundings, specifically the deviously cunning face that glared and scoffed at his aura sticking out his tongue in a failed intimidation technique and turning to the overheating student to his right significantly calmed in focus on the impossible task. Closing the cap on momentous hydration, he stretched his legs to flood the rest of his body in nourishment while cracking the bones in his ankles. "I know I can do it. I just don't know how."

He was genuinely deflated, hiding a scorned apologetic look to the blade at his feet as he caressed its face tenderly, failing to prove worthy to the powerhouse who put its faith and trust in his hands. He drummed his fingertips to the tune of his promise to become stronger and a worthwhile attribute to the worldly investment sitting on opposite sides of the gym – his promise to fulfil his given role to the best of his ability in developing with the sword by his side, fused into one being driven by bloodlust of the vindictive and pitiless, yet so embarrassed at the prospects of his performance and his inability to seek the light shrouded in a blue haze equivocal to a fair select few; the moment the typhoon of self-pity washed over him, a hard smack snapped him out of the abyss as well as his seat, holding out his hand to not topple over himself. "Hey! What did I say about getting in your head?" Nero's silence was never a good thing and the twin called it, no remorse prickling the backlash on his palm as he neglected a gage to alter his tremendous right hand and hitting him at his normal level that too spoke volumes to how strong the boy had grown, picking himself up after a thirteen percent direct slap to the back of the head from one of the most formidable creatures to walk among humans and still have all his limbs and organs in working order. It did the trick fifteen times over, snapping him back to reality and looking directly at Vergil's bland yet soft eyes flecked in worry. And he froze, Dante's digits suddenly feeling its way down Nero's back and kept centre, his middle administering two small taps to his spine and giving pause for the remaining three bigger to spell their secret knock: 'quick chat; don't make it too obvious'. The hybrid tickled the dimples some inches lower and he shot up rigor mortis style, trying to hide the source of the tingling seeping through the questionable change in his features, one that Vergil almost definitely saw and refused to acknowledge. "We have another place to get to and it won't help if you're exhausted beyond your limit."

Half-truths sucked fighting against, especially with the devils who took it upon themselves to teach him the art of proper negotiation. "We've done enough for one day," came the deep voice from the corner, getting to his feet and resuming his poised air at the forbidden knowledge. "Your surprise doesn't like waiting."

Nero followed the daunting noise skewing shock and intrigue at the ends of his mouth. "A surprise?"

"Get cleaned up and you'll find out," said Dante, rising to offer assistance in extension of his hand to the boy who could barely lift his arms for his half of the inaudible agreement. "I'm excited for you."

The elder nodded, moving with far less struggle than the newbie fighter picking up his sword and holstering it behind him. Nero breathed deeply, the expansion of his chest evident in the demon's blind spot later drooping at the exhale. "You did well. Much better than I expected. No offense."

With his attention to the deep stare, his brother gave him a toothy smile and a thumb's up for the kind motivation that would spur the rest of his journey onward with both of their support as the beatings continued until he was ready to become a household name above and below ground, inducing fear with four letters and a trail of fire in his wake. "I'll remember that. Thanks."

He held tighter on the strong hand that never left his grasp as he was led to the staircase that he knew he couldn't climb. The red demon opened the door and watched the residue of his soul leave his build while his gaze scanned each step, recalling the same feelings the last time he climbed them. "Dante." The softness came from nowhere, the only credible source benign to the desperate plea in the dark pitch resonating around the equipment. "Could you give us a minute?"

The duo turned on their heels, mentally pinching their cerebral cortexes and clarifying to one another by means of furrowed brows what they had heard. "Of course – I'll be upstairs making as much noise as possible… then."

Dante obeyed the order and closed the door behind him, leaving them alone with their own thoughts to fester in their clogged cloudy heads, teetering on low energy levels without compare to the psychological reverberating on high alert. Vergil met him in the middle of the mat sheathing his indestructible cohort that flaked from its gold tip upward, removing the sword inch by inch to the realm between realms where it returned when not in use, snoring away its blood-dipped conscience and ever fresh when called upon by its equally irrevocable master. The human blinked the eagerness from his tired orbs, angling his head with little fervour for a scolding on his performance meant to channel his readiness as a devil hunter; unexpectedly, the taller man placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezing the knots and trailing the arm's length to soothe the film reeling off the spool in his mind. "Point one: we've asked you on board because we see potential in you; don't look at today and see failure right off the bat. There's a guarantee you will get better and I can tell you're going to be the best decision we've made twice in a row." He stopped at the bend in his elbow, turning them palm up to feel the vitals for any sign of unseen injury. "Point two, and I cannot stress this enough: you are not one of us – do not compare yourself with our way of dealing with things. Stay within your limits and make it out with your life. The mission means nothing if you are not breathing for the next one. Throw us under the bus if you need to; do nothing at the expense of your life, do you understand me?" He became fascinated by the pale wrists, noting the irregular yet nonlethal pulse beneath his fingertips. "The heart beating in your chest is precious. Something happens to you, the four of us live the remainder of eternity knowing we could have prevented it…" Vergil set Nero's hands on his own neck as he glared the underwear off the blank wall, gritting his jaw at the numerous times he tore his skull to pieces as the sole method to make him feel a different pain, gently stroking down the boy's forearms and shaking his sense when concern stared straight to his frozen soul. "I've taken it upon myself to train you; my means are unforgiving, but I refuse to send you to your death. Practice makes perfect and you shall be nothing less." His shoulder blades were in working order too, ticking the last box on the checklist of anatomical markers contributing to his kill streak. "Point three: do not inform me of the boundaries of my power unless you've experienced it for yourself. There is much to us we've kept secret to keep your delicate human brain out of harm's way." The hybrid nodded to the protruding bulk of metal sleeping where he had impaled his brother. "You haven't begun to know the extent of our strength, so do your best to respect it. Do not trouble yourself with doubt. Ever." The last word was growled to him, a tiny blip in the boy's heartbeat effecting a retreat from the hybrid, pulling back in respect – and tease – for Dante's request of him. "Please excuse me. I will be in the shower before lift-off." Vergil peeled away, nipping the lobe as he sauntered to the exit, manhandling a blood-soaked Rebellion out of the wall. Pulling the door to its maximum, he glanced over his shoulder to see the motionless figure frightened out of comfort by the loud _ting_ of him dropping the pointy end to the ground, turning mechanically to give him the attention he sought. "The invitation would have been open but matters press."

Speaking of the younger, he jogged joyfully down the stairs with a bowl of fruit as reward for his impeccable timing. "Can I have my turn now?"

Dante completely ignored his pride and joy humming in content in his brother's clench. "I was just leaving."

He left without another word, shoving his open hand into his coat pocket while taking the steps two by two instead of the easier route true to his power of teleportation. "I missed something incredible, didn't I?"

Incredible didn't come close. "He's really strong."

Dante spoke through chewing a chunk of pineapple. "You have no idea."

Stepping closer to the stunned frame, he picked up a strawberry from his collection and held the stem tightly, poking it against his sweltering lips and confirming his read on the room. "Go."

"You said you wanted to talk-"

"He took the script. You're free to go." Dante used a similar tone to the one in their shared night under his covers, more persuasive given the cheerful face permitting desire to distort his actions to get the smaller man running out of the room. Nero bit into the small fruit keeping hold of the wrist attached to the handheld burst of sweetness, lapping up the juices falling down the length of his fingers individually, sucking all the way to his knuckles and securing every drop made its way down his throat, aloof to the wavering scale bound to the devil's libido, forcing the images of the previous night to the enter beneath his eyelids. He'd never forget that if it weren't for the other's actions and insistence, the realisation would not have hit true Vergil as hard and open to being vulnerable to the one who wanted him most, the one who appreciated it for its complexity and rarity to the light of day, the one who'd prosper it to a familiar feeling without shame, presenting a deeper understanding to the bigger picture outside of his stern bubble and letting go from time to time in showing truth other than silent seething felt at the Earth's molten core. "He's waiting."

He let the words float on the exhale, fluffy and breathless to the nerve ends' treatment to a simple offering of natural sugars to elevate his mood. "Are you sure?"

"Very," he replied, sluggishly claiming his hand away from the pandemonium. Nero ran with a fire stoked under his feet, extracting the energy from the fruit at a monumental speed that propelled him up the stairs, sparing no seconds to think about anything other than the warm cascade of water next to a warmer body with lost effort to the entire purpose of the shower in the first place. Dante fished for his cell and began texting immediately, needing a helpful tip to sustain a loss of the weighted pounding between his legs.

He clicked on the cursed image; all black had its moments. _Will I see you soon?_

Lars replied instantly like he smelt the burned butter before his fiancé pressed send. _Depends. Can you fit me into your schedule?_

There was plenty he could fit into. _I have a huge boner. Can you get rid of it?_

He swore he heard the demon laugh through his speaker. _That's not in my job description, Dante._

Damn incubus had a point. _That doesn't help me. Can you say things that will help me?_

Dante ignored the wise words vibrating in his pocket as he reached the top of the stairs, hobbling between his feet asking the obvious to the flattened black box minding its own business. "How many times could you do it in a day?"

The sound of falling water invaded his brain. _You have somewhere to be. Don't make this a challenge._


	11. Coming full circle

Vergil stood a little longer under the hot shower, rendered immobile by the tiny drops of lava cascading and relaxing its way down his frame, moving his neck accordingly for the water to concentrate its relieving strength on varied spots on his shoulders and upper body and momentarily losing himself in the pure serenity of the falling rhythm as the palms of his hands flattened against the sole tiled wall in the glass box surrounded by a light dusting of steam; his head drooped directly under the showerhead, a constant reassurance tapping away and soaking the silky strands from root to tip, closing him in his practiced nest of sequestration carefully surveying the few dribs that held on until the very apices of silver before they joined the rest pooling at his feet. The twin shook the excess off his face and hair, faintly tilting his head to see the heat stemming off the wet handprints in front of him as a soft voice permeated the mist, pulling from his leaned posture to turn the taps and burst the warm layer he'd been furtively seething in for the past fifteen minutes. He stepped through and wiped the moisture from between his toes, catching the flying towel mid-air without so much as a glance and stretching above his head to cut the trajectory in half thanks to his superhuman senses. "You know I don't need this."

He spoke engrossed in the grout, cheekily resisting the urge to slowly raise his head and capture Nero in a bout of muddled arousal while he dried stray beads of water on his sculpted chest. "How would I know that?"

Well played. "I don't know," the man whispered, the perfect acoustic transferring the barely audible sentiment across the small space; scrunching the absorbent material in his hand, he brought it around the back of his neck and over the top of his head, fluffing the more boastful of the wetness into the maroon fibres and tossed it back to its place of origin, caught and hovering out of reach of its purpose. "You need it more than I do."

Vergil straightened to his full height, tactfully staring through his drenched locks at the nude statue holding the towel dressed in a gaping mouth as the usually impassive twin put his hands comfortably on his hips and shook his hair to one side in one swoop, deliberately mimicking his sibling in undisputed glistening glory with complete blankness casting a gorgeous shadow over the depths of his eyes sparkling in devious mischief, breathing heavily as both his arms lifted in favour of his signature slicked style that transformed him back to the elder son of Sparda. Nero hadn't known he needed that until now, dropping his clench absentmindedly while his body went through the motions of gradually going limp. "Why… just why…"

Two silver feelers bounced forward by the will of the god stubbornly on the human's side, attempting stability on his heart rate for the sake of his modesty and self-control the hybrid made an effort to chip at. "Why what?"

The boy heaved an irate aching sigh, the exhale of velvet negating the white knuckles squeezing the colour out of the harmless cloth while scanning the shameless hybrid top to bottom viewing a temptingly vacant mien reeking of every morsel of the opposite, triggering seven hundred and twenty four trillion blood cells to boil simultaneously and alter the pale picture of innocence altogether. He wrapped the towel around his waist, veiling the effects of pseudo Vante more than obeying the request without reason, tucking one corner of the intended offence securely under his left hip intrinsically answering the demand initiated by the very item. "No one's gonna see me. Dante knows I'm here."

"He does," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his act of grandeur while the glossy film created by the earlier shower hissed quietly, leaving a wholly dry Vergil standing at attention. "In knowing that fact, it does keep him at bay. Be happy he's staying put."

The day had been weird enough; he wouldn't put the thought past him. 'Yeah, right…' Nero called his so-called bluff, walking confidently to the bathroom door and pulling the handle inward only to have Dante's lounging figure sprawled on the couch – full uniform, feet up, chewing on air and reading Vergil's literature equivalent of a porn magazine – as if belonging to the splendid portrait that continued to repaint itself the longer he stared. "I put the rest of your clothes on your bed. I want you to wear it today as a precaution, if you don't mind." The older of the two appeared at the human's shoulder and nudged him slightly forward, pacing his steps to the table in front of the identical specimen to pour a liberal serving of the bourbon giving life to the monochrome colour scheme; the rest of the household watched on as he wordlessly moved to the balcony and leaned over the handrail, sipping from his tumbler containing an extra concentration of zero fucks to split in half to give his audience. "It's like looking in a mirror. A skinny one sized down a notch."

He took another quiet swig, rolling the contents for the burn to coat his entire mouth. "Dante, I think Nero of all people is an expert on how wrong you are." He waited, swallowing to the melodious sound that was the micro crack of his brother's hurt feelings mocked by a mute chuckle that echoed into the street under Vergil's bare feet, hearing his fist bash against his thigh while in a standing foetal position in hiding the nuance of a full-fledged laugh wrecking his shoulder blades.

The naked man spun, licking a lost drip of alcohol off his bottom lip. "You don't mean that…!"

"Oh I do. Ask him."

The honeyed reply softened the blow of truth freezing him in place as Nero caught his breath feeling both icy pairs of permeating blue. He regained his height and clutched his chest as the giggles faded, looking directly in the space between them for safety and clearing his throat of the build-up to deliver his end of the interaction he saw coming a mile away. "You two will be the death of me, I swear to God-"

And death shall Dante bring. "Come on, Nero. Tell him what you told me."

Vergil's eyebrows animated upward to the boy's response, met with shrinking glee at the accusation bold enough to scare the cloth off his body. "What are you talking about?"

On the odd occasion Dante chose to unravel from his pretzel of relaxation – his words – with the closest thing to a straight face, it was time to run. Fast. Preferably to the next town. The thought couldn't have reigned truer than this moment, seeing the sneer inch wider in his trouble-making mood. "Last night." He snatched the entire decanter and lifted the crystal top, gulping down his thirty forth sip of alcohol for the morning. "Tell him."

He swirled his serving and emptied it as he stepped back inside, placing it on the sturdy glass before vanishing and returning with his pants and boots lazily draping on his bottom half and admitting his stoic aura to fill the gap in his knowledge of the night in question, vaguely curious to the circumstance and the degree to which he had without a doubt inflated his ego to fill the void of where his personality should have been, hiding a smirk at the clever line as it buried itself in his subconscious for the next time his brother pissed him off. He levelled his uniform as much as he could, pulling the yielding material over his hips and calves respectively, thoughtfully keeping his fly and accompaniments unfixed while marching to Nero with fire in his dangerous eyes, tucking his thumb into the towel struggling with its single job. "Tell me."

The teen became distracted by the blatant move on his frame and heaved his chest to keep cool at the double assault, the red siren sounding the closer he trod to revealing his awareness of the two-day swap. "Huh?"

He stood on his toes and held onto the twin's upper arms, inclining his half of the puzzle piece to accommodate the bending hybrid like a moth to a flame for a quiet murmur into his ear, spreading his warm grasp on the naked, lower back. "He wants a reaction. He won't hear what you're saying, so say anything." It tickled Nero's shell and sent gooseflesh to the tips of his fingers, digging deep into his lover's shoulders as the hand on the teen's back unconsciously moved to the back of his neck, tugging hard at the baby hairs that stood rod stiff at the strange flow of events leading to this point. "He has been trying all morning."

Nero stole a glance over the hybrid's shoulder, narrowing his eyes at his guardian as the cruellest plan took form in his racing mind, sticking his tongue in his cheek to support the brashness that was to follow by order of his beloved. "Anything?"

The miniscule nod took Vergil's lips down the sharp line of his jaw, missing the absolute mess he'd caused disguised as a satisfied, gaped mouth just inches away. "Just enough for an overreaction."

Did he realise what he was asking? "You're gonna regret this."

On the other side of the room, Dante regretted his momentous courage as he began slowly losing the battle against the scorch, forgetting how strong Vergil's imports packed their collective punch down his intestines and wallowing in the never-go-near-that-unless-supervised lane in the Olympic sized swimming pool. He held back the cough scalding his oesophagus, seeing abrupt movement out of the corner of his eye moving too fast for his own good, blurring the crossed, restricted lines more than necessary with what he'd asked: Nero looking petrified over Vergil's shoulder, his neck adhering to the unseen pull behind his vision in fear of fulfilling his request; a quiet whisper in his brother's ear while he dragged his fingers along the soft skin and open pores of his strong arms; leaning back, scoping the damage, leaning in again, speaking knowingly slow, giving meaningless pause; the back toward him tensed significantly, bulging muscles reacting appropriately to the incursion on his ear canal that he puzzlingly couldn't hear. The boy fell back onto the balls of his feet, removing all forms of contact before his twin turned to look at him, the younger face utterly deflated in the background and the identical his usual level of 'bleh' with a slight tinge of disgust irking his jawline. He didn't bother with the time of day, moving his icy diverted stare to his four-poster begging for another drink. "Fine. Go."

This time he circled fully, his gaze emanating the purest of roused poisons in every shape and form following the human from the bathroom and all the way to the door like a lizard's tail, anxious to rip it off and have any trace of it obliterated from reality. Nero stopped, however, one foot still inside the room with the heap of clothes in his hands and out of the perilous blue line of sight, stealing the instant for a tiny smirk and a wink in Dante's direction, pursing his lips as the door signalled his exit followed by ominous running footsteps down the stairs and into his room. The red man was stunned out of his underwear, tweaking his neck somewhat for a reaction to the something he clearly had no idea passed between them. "What on earth did he tell you?"

And by some miracle, the broad shoulders unwound, continuing on his path to his closet for the rest of his ensemble. "What you wanted me to hear; let's leave it at that." He was gobsmacked, observing with unneeded focus the pale skin on his brother's back ripple under strain of his attire conforming to his body, doing its selfless evil in covering the hybrid with the power embedded in its threads. Pulling the material to its assumed snug fit, he turned away from the eyes burning his butt to claim the main – last – piece to complete the set sliding both his arms simultaneously against the non-existent breeze, the rest of the coat flailing outward like a peacock showing off its best moves to the competition as he chewed the insides of his cheek. "Was there something you wished to share?"

He fixed his collar and smoothed the rest, oblivious to his zipper and top button that he hadn't yet catered to. "Are you just gonna-"

"If you came here for anything else…"

Dante couldn't read him; no grip, no bitterness to the air, no automatic sour aftertaste to trigger the red spiralling light in his subconscious – nothing save for his usual clear penetrating stare and no nonsense posture he witnessed only seconds before putting monsters triple his size to eternal sleep. All jokes aside, he nodded plainly, scratching scuffles of his fringe to where they were supposed to be and taking advantage of the calm before the hypothetical sunny storm. The force of the morning's discussion diffused the presumed thick air, shoving him three steps back into his sage category of thoughts sealed behind the yellow 'do not disturb' tape skimming as much of the surface Vergil would allow in the given condition. "Lars came by."

It was enough and within the style of him explaining things to his brother: short and sweet, concurrently saying nothing and everything he needed to connect the array of dots floating above the younger's head aimlessly rotating like an amateur planetary science project in the hopes of getting wedged into a web of logic for its spherical content to make sense in one way or another, finishing the untidy chain that were his feelings scattered all over the place. The elder acknowledged it with a hurried dip of his head, finding solace in the straps on Dante's black boots. "I am aware. I had to work at stalling Nero and his compulsiveness to cook breakfast or you'd have his head."

Funny how long a single, overtired threat could stretch when the man on the other end could chop off your head with a smile. "Thanks," he said, the delayed cogs reacting one beat off course in a dry laugh for a sufficient ending to the spiral staircase neither wished to venture.

Vergil was no expert but would do his best, marching to his glass and dispensing a triple which he downed without a flinch to offer. "It's getting increasingly difficult to get his mind off food."

He needn't even try, but success in thawing the sub-zero disdainful hue amid the four walls somehow came standard with the 'good mood' setting on his motherboard. Trust Dante to sail on the same boat until the sea ran dry. "Oh please, we shared a womb; it shouldn't be too hard…" and he brought his train of thought to a standstill… for the best. "I probably could've worded that better."

And if he did, it wouldn't carry the classic finesse and charm that was the crudeness one came to expect from the twin, hand in hand with ease and sassy execution sans inappropriate handcuffs and a lonely ride straight to a cold cell that he'd smooth-talk out of anyway. "Did you two manage to clear the air? I was a little worried when he kicked us out."

Vergil was in the motion of fixing his cuffs when concern prickled his sibling's skin, visibly making the effort to proportionally twist his body to face the well-timed misplaced yet convivial emotion taking small steps toward him. "You? Worried?"

The closest thing to offence graced his inhumane features, the still-soaked strands sticking to the uncertainty on his cheeks. "I'm not capable?"

"I didn't say that." The eschewed eye contact said otherwise, wobbling his head to the unsympathetic floor. "It doesn't suit you."

The blue demon made a mental note at the avoided inquiry, shaking it into the back pocket of his brain as his silver mop was finally dry, falling indecently into place and plucking at the strings of irony playing in the background. "As much of a compliment as that is, he's family. I've earned the right."

"And thank you, but there's no need. He's good." It sounded as if to convince himself. "He's fine." Although doubtful, Dante's weak smile would do for the short journey on foot, accompanied by strange, hopefully human chatter the further the improvised homestead came in sight. The happy etch on his face faded a tad, flipping his switch to the trail Nero had left behind after the tease and dropping the mask of averaged candour as Vergil pointed the mouth of his cherished delicacy to him in query of another drink – he politely declined, crinkling his nose at the bigger glass of liquid hatred effortlessly gliding down his throat. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever he it was he told you. I was just having fun."

"Don't worry. We know." He lowered his gaze to replace the lid of the decanter, licking a fictional drop from the corner of his mouth while identical raised eyebrows stared back, glistening in tune with the sound of the grandfather clock chiming between his ears. "The look of pure trauma on your face…" and rightfully earned, the kiss to his pinching thumb and forefinger admitted the smug satisfaction as opportune, laced with the hint of a gracious win and a venomous, sexy once over deftly landing in Dante's lap. "Priceless."

The sole manner of justification to his look was incapacitated reprieve, the wooden chains around his stomach breaking with a small snap of fulfilment as the doghouse in the distance died away with a light pop. "My heart is literally in my ass."

"Good. That should teach you to play with his feelings in that manner." His face became a blank canvas on a green screen, ready to be splashed in his signature shades of cold when he spoke seriously of Nero's feelings. "I know your aim and it's cute, but understand that he cannot immediately be comfortable with affection, especially in front of you. Please respect that."

And now he felt awful for not taking his complex position into account, squaring his shoulders and awkwardly creaking his jaw as the least mature of the three, shaking his head down the gold pattern of his brother's coat. "I didn't think it was a biggie."

"It is. To him. Behind a closed door is something else, but it will take time before he's okay. I sprang this on him so I am partially to blame."

Dante nodded. Slowly. Puffing his cheeks in an exasperated strawberry that never saw the light of day. "Noted; I'm sorry."

"You haven't wronged me. Nero needs your apology." The half smirk was pleased, still framed by eyes as fierce as his intention to get the point across. "And I'll be taking your silence as permission to ask Lars about your little talk."

"He'll tell you more than the story I squeezed out of him, so be my guest."

Vergil would hold to the task for his brother's sake, knowing the word-hating incubus Lars would eternally be, forbidding terminology to steer his trials or antiphons but acting on the trusted endorphins that guided him day and night, unable to say he thought things through to add weight to his stubbornness and independence that, in this case, didn't pay off in the slightest. Whatever drove him to the drastic conclusion they found him in must have been profoundly out of character for him to not confide in his fiancé, more so if the five letters were next to one another in the lost explanation minus the ability to save him the way it always did, making him second guess his obvious mistake and take the high road that had previously failed him. Dante would strive in making things right and he was well on his way, wanting to surprise them both to provide a stepping stone to the relationship that was meant to be and flourish into something they would be proud of far past overdue. The elder took soft steps to reach his sibling, tenderly holding his face in his hands and lifting his sullen expression to meet his own, bringing hues of life to the pale skin yet unseen on the usually spirited figure. "You're doing something great, Dante. Remember that."

Dante's face fell as the palliated softness left to snake around his lean waist, walking along his lower back until they could clasp; the tension wracking their bodies diffused as they relaxed into one another's touch – with the red hybrid mirroring every move – and resting their foreheads together to dispel the destructive, doubtful energy and move forward, binding their intense stares to take a total moment of Zen to recalibrate their previous states to calm each other to how it was before their lives took a three hundred and sixty degree turn for the better. Their eyes fluttered closed as they recalled the pivotal moment of their change, realising only the hassles and tassels in coming face to face with what little they knew: not seeing the beauty in front and inside of themselves, setting their sights to focus on the wrong results and therefore the wrong paths of the easier trod and travelled from the beginning. How they'd managed on route to the preferred earthed channel would be for another time, and buoyantly forgotten, but managed their way into fighting their own outward battles struggling to internalise and correlate the similar stimuli to their true halves as the eye opener Hanson was hoping for. "I'm proud of you too, Vergil." He broke the dense bubble of their tender embrace, causing two small sincere smiles into the mix and turning the picture into something directly from a dream creatively encapsulating them in their finest form: side by side and unconsciously bringing out the better of themselves in complete trust and dignity to the untouched connection weaved in their DNA. The younger blushed accidentally, licking his bottom lip before curling his tongue inside his mouth and leaning in, dipping to Vergil's left to the beat of an inhale tensed in spectrumed emotions gone haywire. The other remained in place, taking his known position deeply embedded in his brother's strands and crunching by the force of his need fuelled by Nero's kind words as he left the bedroom. "Will we still be able to-"

"Absolutely not."

Dante deliberately straightened, ghosting his plump lips against the equally swollen pair. "Why not?"

Did he need to say it? "I still have much to prove to him; fewer transgressions make me more worthy of his affections and to share his bed. You and Lars are a brick wall. A white-picket fence cannot compare."

He mentally played out three claps at the improved analogies. "It's cute that you think one fuck up is all it takes to change a year's worth of work to get you to open up to him."

Vergil lazily peeled away, distancing himself from the norm that was seventy two hours ago. "It's cute that you think I would easily let that happen-"

His deep grunt greeted the sudden yank on his pants, pulling him closer and the material tighter on every inch below the belt, the button and zipper finally closed without the red twin breaking the risky connection. He's done this far too much. "Come on, Hanson has mouths to feed." Dante kept his finger hooked at the stomach, eyeing the tiny sliver of skin with the bane of his purity seeping out of his fingertips. "Last time," he said, dragging the single word from his lungs with a step toward the unfathomable image and crashed their lips together, harsh and quick yet soft and tempting, breaking free before Vergil got his hands tangled on any part of his physique and clamping his teeth while the curtain fell on his transient boost of confidence, an anticipated expression of unsuspecting arousal embellishing the elder's features as he watched his bottom lip being dragged to his downturned line of sight observing the same flame kindling behind the supposed virtue on display. "I'm already apologising when I get downstairs. Now it'll have a pretty bow when it's… all packaged."

The demon left his clothing and chose to bother two fingers on his brother's left hand, shimmying backward down the first few steps in a smirk that could bring Lars down in a heartbeat. "I asked for that."

"You did. You should learn to control yourself, brother." And for one last time, he got comfortable in the cyan coat and straight spine, stuffing his hands into his red pockets. "You're stronger than that, you waste of space."

The makeshift stab at mimicking his voice was nearly bang on. "I would never say that-"

"Walk around with a tree to replenish the oxygen you're wasting, Dante."

Vergil was impressed. "Okay. I'll allow you that one."

The younger twin pulled an orthodox face to drive it home, halting halfway down and steadying himself on the banister. "I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass… hold on, I'd say that to you."

Vergil strode past, sedate, kicking him in the shin. "It's better to let someone think you are an idiot than to open your mouth and prove it."

He wanted to laugh. He truly did. "That's the spirit," said Dante, shaking the pins and needles with every limp down the rest of the staircase.

* * *

Standing equipped with a cup of sweet coffee, Nero bode his time in the kitchen cleaning unnecessarily, rolling his eyes at Dante's senseless need to use two different mugs for the same beverage and probably consumed one after the other as a mere distraction to growing progressively nosy at the silence up above, trying to find a spot that would give hint of any sound or gesture of movement in clarification of their situation; the pis aller of neither noisy implication of broken bones or furniture suited him just fine, a restrained guess things were a mellow purple between them. He made one final round including the insides of the pantry and continued to eyeball the wooden beams above, restlessly giving up his overthinking splurge and retreating to the dining table where he slumped and pretended to be perched the entire time drowning in the unusual choice of two extra sugars for the oncoming excursion predisposed as the light to his despised darkness. The teen watched his hand swirl the hot contents in his grasp, the folded denim of his new coat catching his eye as it went with the motions of wasting time and in an unprecedented rush: the flurry of the morning hit him like a pot of soup to the face, deliciously knocking reason into place on the shifted landscape owed to the twins and their audacious dialogue that refractorily sucked him in and played with his inability to resist the snarling dexterity, steeping to the lowest of low to bite hard and deep enough to silence the bloated balls of their twin by plain deliverance and a bitter aftertaste.

The concept had yet to properly hit him, but the fact remained: he officially claimed status on his dream team well before any other dreams took shape in his head, seeing himself with his own walk strutting between the waning demons as they ventured home from a hard day's work where he'd run straight to the fridge for a celebratory snack – preferably cold and sour to replenish the juices of the adrenaline – and tucking in as part of the textbook triad he'd seen in his mind so many times. The prospects now forced a no-nonsense stare from him, just as profoundly excited, tapping his feet under the table to the rhythm of his eagerness to a distressed call right this moment and nearly deaf to the pair of agile footsteps finally gracing Vergil's staircase and joining the lower level of the abode, the flash of red and blue inadequately obstructing the daydream triggered by the hundreds of lives he would be saving under the guidance of the two entities idolised since his new life, clapping from the sidelines as a one man audience to their awesome power and skill and having it replay via REM a thousand times before inviting proper sleep easier than the days he ran a blank and his subconscious filled the void with vagrant scraps slipping through hairline cracks in Vergil's magic, succeeding in countless tired nights Nero's growing, undernourished body couldn't afford. He breathed deep and took a sip, not needing to turn his head to know they were right behind him, standing in wait for his attention with courtesy to the brainwave that put such a bright broad smile on his face – the squeeze to his shoulder was gentle, paired with the ineptitude to guess which twin it was attached to made him stand to face them, letting the timid grin fade to seem normal in the silence prior to their arrival seeing only the colour on his wrist to confirm his suspicion. Blue. "Something on your mind?"

The inquisitivity came twofold as Dante snuck his head next to his brother's, somewhat anxious at what momentarily fazed him out of reality. "A few things, but first thing's first." Nero sniffed, reaching into his inner left breast pocket and pulling an envelope of medium thickness from its confines, nervously bending the corners as he held it in his hands and the twins quietly moved next to one another wearing matching expressions with wildly different textures plucking disparate strings in his chest. "I wanna give you something." Lucidly addressing the younger, the twin still pointed at his buckles for certainty; the teen nodded, taking a bold step toward the confused powerhouse. "Forgive its lateness."

It was handed to him facing downward, the beige gem weighted heavy with pride as it ultimately made its way home after four long years. "What is this?"

Dante held it gingerly by his fingertips flipping the thin rectangle for the sole elegant script on the front, his name weaving in cursive as a precursor to the eventual rollercoaster under the sealed flap. "I began writing a letter since the day you brought me home. I kept rewriting it over and over wanting it to be perfect… I gave up trying to use big words I couldn't understand, and instead I just… wrote… and failed miserably, but-" and his face froze in a clumsy grimace mid-sentence, permitting the glucose in half of his drink to run its course as his loss for words drew a deep silence that echoed in his nervous system. "There are things in there I can't say out loud and writing things down makes more sense to me. There are too many things…" His brain did it again, swallowing hard to coat the ping pong ball on its way down his throat. "Read it, okay? When we come home."

Nero was able to keep himself together even though his practiced speech ran deep into the cellar, gluing his eyes to the buckled, toned midsection as he toyed with the chamber holstered at his thigh; a nudge to his elbow told him to be proud of what he'd done, snapping his embarrassment in four equal pieces – one for each orb glaring lovingly at him – and with a tiny grin saw Dante fold and pocket the letter, fixing himself and tapping over the spot it rested comfortably close to his heart. "I'm sure it will. Thank you."

His hand lingered a minute too long feeling coyly touched by the quiet, unaccustomed token, completely in the dark to proffer an appropriate reaction in the midst of company and settling on warmly opening his arms with untainted motive, clear eyes and a solemn smile reaching the depths of Nero's ribcage and reeling him in by the hook on his heart in as compelling of an embrace he'd anticipate, following through on pure instinct and sheer luxury into the amiable space that started it all; the smaller man nuzzled into his chest as he'd done many times before, resting his cheek on the soft rumble to the left while his toughened limbs turned to jelly around his lower back, the demon's muscles relaxing under the gentle caress calming the microscopic tremors held back by his solid self-control showing a completely different side to his flouted sibling doing his best to keep the frost gate bolted from within his torso.

The twin carefully smoothed the human's silver strands, planting his senses and clinging to the notion of hope and prosperity nestling in his arms and tickling his scalp into a terrific stupor of adorable kindness and repute in the heat of their selfish moment, taking a much-needed pause to come together and rekindle the roots of their past and influences on one another, deeply embedded in plain sight and tricky to pick at as their true emotions sprung free without permission – and hesitation – showing the bare foundation of trust, love, and overall companionship fostered into something beautiful and surreal, beyond expectation and filled to the brim with everything they could give in the time that remained in their hands. Dante softly rubbed his back, gripping him tighter ever so slightly in response to the audible sigh leaving the boy's lips, an added kiss to the top of his head acting as the wax seal emblazoned on their steadfast inner selves murmuring in overbearing delight. "I love you Dante. I hope you know that." He clung to the red leather looking sleepily to deep blue caverns surrounded in slippery mountain rock, letting go of a held breath as he pulled a bend to the hybrid's posture for a sweet peck on the inside of his neck below the ear with full knowledge it drove them both to the asylum and back, grazing over the sweltering 'X' with his thumb drifting to his collarbone, allowing himself to bask in the courage invested in his tangled gaze. "And if you'll excuse me-" The boy drained what he could without getting lost, playing his cards on the safe side as he turned to the other presence in the vicinity, standing in front of the complex figure softened by the earlier display he thoroughly understood and appreciated for the pureness of their unworded exchange. Nero gave him a look of unbridled passion and want, immediately setting a specific flow of events in motion tugging their relationship and his assumed diffidence that had no place in the world: the boy made for either side of his incredible jaw, spreading his fingers across Vergil's prickling skin as a two second warning, the goosebumps covering his shoulders when the full-fledged kiss attacked his senses and the rest of his body coasting shamelessly in the anodyne void he'd traversed far too many times yet not enough in his delayed opinion, opening his mouth for the boy to do as he deftly pleased while he stayed behind for his turn in the churner lenient for the pace to be set, his cyan orbs flickering against his wavering power to the spell overtaking every inch of his demonic form.

Dante grabbed the coffee getting colder, happily downing the rest as the human sufficiently quenched his personal thirsts, draining the ceramic vessel of everything it had to offer. It was only when the flavour hit his tongue that he grasped his mistake, manning his tastebuds to survive the unprepared sweetness pop-rocking the base of his jaw tucking his gag reflexes until he found the persistence to swallow the unworldly concoction that would sluggishly erode his intestines. Yet all was forgotten when his body reached equilibrium observing the content pair in a safe space, his discomfort fizzing away, albeit awkwardly, with a grimace at no one in particular. The slow, hypnotising rhythm was sufficiently potent to put the younger in the same trance watching intently while time ticked by and the source of his trip down guilt alley effervesced as their tongues came into view, entering each other's mouths in turn to sate the hellish need festering from zero – Vergil hand quickly found the opposite hip, weaving around his back and clasping a seductive vice felt through the present three layers moulded to his frame and white knuckles showing none on his calm and cool features distorted in yearning of the unlit pyre adapting to embers with a snap of his lover's digits **.** Nero permitted a tiny groan bubbling in the back of his throat that pushed him deeper into the willing catalyst, sucking harder and slower on the scalding tongue just enough for the next phase to not kick their pelvises into gear from its natural home, teasing his earlobes as he laid control back on the demon's lap dressing the already plump lips in a loving triplet of pouty smooches ending the risk that, frankly, paid off. His young flushed face shone brighter as his eyes opened, observing a composed clarity in high definition unable to cease his unholy grip. "I didn't write you one. That will have to do for now."

Impulsively licking his lips, Vergil savoured the taste ending too soon, biting them in search of any and all traces of Nero seeped into his skin. It was short-lived, however, recalling the other blistering soul to his left giving him a faceful of gorgeous 'I told you so' wrapped neatly in leather, gold fasteners, and messy hair. "I was wrong."

The smaller man was still in recovery missing the chaos behind him. "About what?"

Dante mirrored his brother's entire aura, all the way down to the internal battle of maintaining his unmoving mien whilst butterflies continued to set alight to his stomach and below. "I got a scolding for something you just disproved. No biggie!" Not surprised but they should have seen it coming, both their expectations squashed under his size tens at the random times in an explosive blast obliterating a five-mile radius of unintentional standard he'd never once adhered to. Flecks of striking gold momentarily flashed in Dante's blues, switching his in unobstructed view of his sibling's accompanying tight-lipped sneer tasting the words to yet fall form his mouth. "I will accept an apology in that form."

Yep. There it was, and Nero nearly believed him if it weren't for the obscure warning arrow shot directly between the hybrid's smug, devious eyes, holding up significantly longer to the cyan poison currently plaguing him from the inside out. Taking two steps, the boy wanted nothing more than to mess with the seething physique – partly accepting the invitation of his own free will – his third interrupted by a faster blue arm blocking his short way to the waiting demon overcome by his inability to be serious. The demon's face snapped to question the abrupt halt, twitching his nose and raising a single eyebrow in roguish offense to have the boy's ultimate dream cut in half as quick as it had begun. "You had last night; as far as he's concerned, you're in debt."

He looked to Nero for help – an invisible, deep blush perking his form like a jitterbug mixed with a firefly on a caffeine overdose rooted to the spot. "What did you say to him-"

"Dante, we need to get moving. We'll miss lunch." Vergil lowered his arm and squeezed purposely between them to the front door, breaking the momentary lower-tier fixation with a knowing bite to his inner cheek and pulling their attention to his billowing coat and spinning when neither were on his heels, an insipid twist to his neck telling them to follow behind the rolling ball only he could see.

The red demon nudged his interest back toward Nero, side-stepping closer by order of a single bending finger. "You're eating food made by someone not living in this house?" he said, ruefully forgetting the focal point of the three hunters taking a day off. "What happened up there when I left?"

His hopes of getting a straight answer would have to wait indefinitely. "Can we leave please? They won't appreciate us being late."

"Let's. Making them wait would be pointless." Identical faces met at the door and stepped over the threshold simultaneously, leaving the youngest teammate with the lockup as they marched on and made significant distance before his conscience advanced to follow through with his task, locking the establishment with three mechanical turns of the master key and pocketing the weighted silver, jogging on route to their changing position.

"Who's them?" he shouted. They ignored him, animatedly staring ahead at the empty, salt and pepper sky.

* * *

Journeying the broad, squiggly path was easy and quiet, mostly long and thus making good time and traction to the checked flag waving in view of the twins still completely invisible to the inquisitive nose attached to Nero's faultless face that warped in curiosity at each building seeming out of place in the barren, drenched street. Walking between him and Dante, Vergil focussed ahead with the twigging pentagonal tangents to keep the human's brain from its usual overdrive state, his intellect blocked off by a red brick wall trying to bottle his demure excitement toying with his and his brother's fingerless gloves, switching between spoken and extrasensory conversation and praying he didn't get them mixed up. At the three-quarter mark, the sun's rays behind the thick clouds shone unforgivingly above them and their layers of clothing, the only gruelling substance on planet Earth not prejudiced to heritage or configuration of DNA brave enough to break a cool sweat they'd eventually shrug off as a minor inconvenience – given the distance, the ball of hot plasma felt safe and secure floating on its own one hundred and fifty million kilometres away from the hybrids, pluming its gassy feathers for a good, humid day on the cards for any laundry doers on edge from the earlier bout of heavy rain. Nero picked at the flaps of material pinned down by the gold buttons on the blue sleeve, manipulating their laced fingers in small rotations and minding his own business while the twins' banter and varying tones of voice added complexity to the trivial nonsense that coerced the human half of their psyches to shine, making the one hundred percent inside the teen bite his tongue in enjoying the engrossing sentiments flying through one ear and out the other as he squeezed his grip, concentrating ahead for premature loopholes in their mutual secrecy. His eyes caught a stray cat playing with an empty can of baked beans in an alley to their left knocking his blank focus to the deliciously candid half smirk peeking from behind Vergil's flowing form. "You thought of names yet?"

The teen pulled the corners of his mouth toward the black tar exposing the bottom row of his perfect teeth. "The who and what now?" Looking to the amused older brother he tendered no assistance whatsoever, relishing the millisecond it took for his boyfriend's cogs to come to a complete stop definitively concluding that he had no clue what the hybrid meant. "Names? For?"

"Your weapons," he replied just as Dante marched in big steps across his teammates to perch next to the human in inquisition. "The bonds you forge upon naming them becomes incomparable to any oath you'd come to know. The process of naming them becomes personal and it's a task only you can fulfil, and only once will you get this chance." Vergil continued, watching the road as they walked. "Please choose wisely and carefully. It means as much to them as they do to you."

His brother couldn't have said it better. "You have to be proud of them; when their names grace your lips, you become a single entity; your souls fuse and determine the outcome in that instant."

"They'll speak to you in ways only you will understand."

"They'll depend on you in battle and vice versa."

"Their trust and power will be in your hands and await every command with a smile on their shiny faces.  
So do the justice they'll do you in the long run."

In typical Nero fashion, his head flew back and forth between siblings as they adorably – sternly and manly – took turns in grave enthusiasm on Dante and equal parts trite anticipation on Vergil; they spoke from experience, sharing both commonplace and earned knowledge with the famous sacred keepsakes passed down from their father and wielded for the sake of humanity by the simple understanding of those few steps, attributing their success not to their varied labyrinthine skill but rather emphasising the oneship with the companion and drawing from the roots themselves on what has truly made them the great demon hunters Nero came to know. Of course, being trained by the best soldier Hell had ever seen helped a tiny bit. "Did Lars have a name for her?" He reached behind him and tapped the handle, resonating all the way down the street. "While he was making her or when she was finished?"

The twin hoped he'd ask, putting a soft hand on his shoulder to brace the explanation. "There is one, and it meant the world to him." Kneading the tensed, excited knots, his brain spiralled to the explicit and dusty scroll of lore detailing its process of crafting, more interested in Lars' tiny ironic scribble in the top right corner. "You see, back in Hell before he chose to run after me, he held an important position next to the king; there were four others in his company but they weren't as close to him as Lars was, and each relationship with him could be explained through chess pieces: Vergil and I were Knights, Bubba and Lucy were Bishops, and Lars was the most important piece. He was Sparda's bodyguard and beyond us in every aspect, more involved and committed compared to the rest of us." Dante observed ahead, the establishment coming into view with enough time to finish his tale. "As for the other half of the name, the five of us would either solely wear red or blue… well, four: Bubba always wore grey or his uniform. Lucy and Verge rocked the blue and Lars and I chose red until he realised how good he looks in black and dark colours in general, so Lucy climbed off the bandwagon that we're still riding-"

"Just in case he wasn't clear, the name of the sword is Red Queen." Vergil saw to interject for clarity as Dante zigzagged into his rambling state of explanation. "Mighty, calm; the real one pulling the strings and harbouring all the power with good reason." That was Lars to a T.

Without a second thought, there couldn't have been a better name for her – not only was it beyond anything he would think of, it was directly linked to the man who'd changed his life at every opportunity, choosing to ignore his own struggles in favour of befriending a lonely orphan who sat one inch outside the boundary of normal. He felt along the pattern of the hilt, humming in glory at the prospect of its original creation in sounding a sigh of relief close to his left ear. "That's it then," he said, taking pleasure in the miniscule contact and special moment he was having with his new cohort. "She loves it. It feels wrong calling her anything else."

The hybrids shared a quick, quiet look; Lars was going to be so proud. "Great. And sir around your leg?"

The gleaming barrel poked his existence smoothly against his thigh eager for his turn in the spotlight, groped and fondled while something almost as cool as Ebony or Ivory came to his owner's mind. "Is there a story behind this one too?"

"Not really." He was glad – the smith wasn't good with names. "Let's just say someone had an idea and… made it. Like that." A snap to his fingers broke the tension. "This one is all you, buddy."

A thought struck him like light, stroking his way over the flawless engraved detail, dipping and curling between the barrels and around the lone flower close to the chamber. "You chose this?"

Profuse nodding spoke true volumes. "The template came out cooler than I expected. You love your intricacies and curves…" Dante's description faded to silence the longer the boy stared, astounded each time he came face to face with the reality of his guardian knowing him better than he did. "What?"

He shook his head, lowered his gaze, an imagined sole ray of light hitting a spot on the brown leather strap of his holster. Pulling the revolver carefully from its stead, he announced the name in his head using the logic from earlier and swore the grip melded better to his hand like gently squeezing a thick bar of melted chocolate. "What about Blue Rose?"

The revelation was brief, the older demon extending his arm across their torsos to stop them dead in their trance and overall train of thought to call out the obvious, pointing to the metal staircase leading to the second floor of a massive building and mentally crossing his fingers Nero hadn't noticed the swift activity on the roof. "We've arrived."

Holstering Blue Rose, he scanned the steel peril and noted nothing out of the ordinary making his previous efforts amount to pure nothing: his cheesy grin fizzed to his upper thighs as he took the steepness in, thinking it obscure a place to put a front door directly above a back one; the ashen face brick was stylish nonetheless, an odd plot to have settled among the bland apartments that surrounded it to a swift comparison calling the block a definite gem in the midst of ordinary he should have been able to see from his front porch. "Please tell me we're in the double doors at the bottom…"

Nero's legs tingled while counting the rungs to the top, thanking the architectural wonder of railings should his bottom half miraculously cave under. "Some cardio won't kill you."

The younger voice had too soon forgotten the events of their divvied morning. "You sure about that?"

He tugged on Dante's sleeve edging him eagerly for what lay at the peak. "No, but why not test it?"

The duo stepped forward with the hybrid a few paces behind the mellowed ball of energy power-walking to the base as a hand pulled him back, readying a menacing 'what gives' until he saw identical sombreness staring back; if Vergil was right, things would click into place once he reached the front door and the surprise done for, his brain too sophisticated to forget a single detail that had been haunting him in his stemmed nightmares that slotted itself with the retrieved memories from the day before. If not, he was destined for a good shock. And there was no doubt which option he put his money on. "Let's give him a moment, brother," he said, shrinking the gap for aesthetic purposes. Dante obeyed and followed the blue line of sight, hearing the burned edges of his brother's thinking and secretly wishing he had a bowl of popcorn to watch it unfold, settling with his arms on his hips in frightening focus of the boy slowly making his way up the stairs.

Nero's climb wasn't too bad up close, racing up and keeping his head down allowing the ting of every step as motivation to the rhythmic drone of his now stable heart beating away, making nothing of the familiarity in his muscle movements and environment until the final moment, a slab of concrete acting as the welcome mat and end to the uphill trek that too was shorter than he'd calculated. He looked up by plea of a tiny voice in his head and stopped at the adjacent metal, taking a good look at their identically curious faces angled toward him; the whisper furrowed his brow for him, mechanically twisting his body to pan left where his conscience hit a screeching halt. His youthful blues grew three sizes as the patterned oak rang a knowing tune and dissolved the green hue he first saw it from, looming over his frame like the cloaked surprise he was to the entity beyond the very door. From corner to corner, his eyes scanned the entryway like lasers, holding the picture from his dreams beneath his trembling eyelids for the slightest inch to not confirm a match and a direct link to who knew what waiting behind it. After taking a deep breath, the fear in his chest subsided as his hand reached to touch the wood, carefully gaging the level of ill-intent that was supposed to bounce out from it and give him a fright to send him hurtling to the ground – none came, and baffled him, looking back to his caregivers that moved from their previous position. He couldn't tell either way; the concrete was on their side and their arrival masked, but not the delicate taste of dark cocoa in the air around them. "This is the door from my nightmare."

Dante leaned back on the parallel cross bar while Vergil took the safer route and relied on his own posture, sticking his hands in his pockets as his brother wisely took the lead falsely preoccupied with cleaning his fingernails while the denim remained unmoving. Unknown to his brother and probably forgotten by the human, he already knew of the undetailed snippet by thanks of Hanson and the magic of a warm bath, and Vergil knew by default of extraction – Dante playing Dante had no clue what he was talking about. "What nightmare, Nero?"

The boy turned slowly realising the non-fatal slip, puffing in exhale as their guilty eyes met. "Vergil said Hanson told you…"

His own words failed him, but there was one last string he hadn't tugged, and even for the younger brother it unfortunately rang true. "He didn't give any detail. But he did; he's bad with secrets. When it comes to you he'll run his mouth as much as he has to."

Yes, that was pretty much the exact image he bore post recollection, remembering the mass of loving energy he'd immediately clicked with without knowing why. "Thank him for me?" he said, nearly laughing at the sudden randomness of the thought involuntarily escaping his mouth. It seemed the unseen voice had some tricks up its sleeve.

Following the waning script of the day, Dante couldn't hold it in anymore. "Walk through and thank him yourself." And as time prepared to slow down, they were quick enough to catch every phase of expression before the dollar dropped on the concrete, swaying from side to side and suspending longer in the air as the bent ends hooked in the gentle breeze of the aged windstorm in his head, picking up menial debris to sidestep the careering particles of stone lathered to slap him in the face if he dared to acknowledge what he has just heard. He chuckled first, thinking that with a few seconds the hybrid would come clean and crush the tiny overreaction under his military boots, yet when no correction came the muscles in his face fell limp as the idea found solace in his frontal lobe, his gaze flicking between the twins like a metronome on ecstasy willing the insane high to a stable level ahead of his heart bursting out of his chest. "He's making your favourite meal."

Nero claimed a fresh, deep lungful of tainted oxygen, dropping his shoulders gently as his reality took residence over his neck and made him turn rudely, ignoring the gloating and content faces respectively to freely grasp the handle and push forward, his body ostensibly floating over the threshold without so much as a glance in their direction after his entry to the domain harbouring the missing pieces of his life – marching forward and stumbling slightly on a piece of carpet, his head whipped to the clatter in the kitchen to the far left of the space, a lonely soul whizzing in his comfort zone and waving his imaginary magic wand fast enough to double the hypnosis of his wispy actions and quietly dispelling the steam from his ears as he put the finishing touches on the three course spread on the countertop before him. Hanson was a true aficionado when need be, enticing his audience with his wholesome aura and stellar culinary skill that only further complemented his demonically good looks and sweet, sharp tongue, a mix for the senses to behold and take in as if lives depended on the feat of feeling utterly satisfied miles prior to touching the cuisine. But today, today was an entirely different field to his usual customer, the three gone completely unnoticed by the flying chef draped in his purple apron and charcoal ensemble hurrying to sate the timer squealing pure desperation at the freshly baked rolls being removed from their fiery hell by their maker. The twins joined him at either side, purposely slamming the front door hard enough to make him jump and spill his sip of 'special iced tea', sending him on a tingling high alert as he recognised two out of the three visitors with his back toward them, and even if blatantly obvious who the third was, still turned to them with a face of blue murder patting down the mess at his collarbone. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know heart attacks were on the menu tod-"

His lungs lost all cause of fight, becoming calmly short of breath as the wonderful pair of blue eyes locked to him with the same wonder as their first meeting, slowly dilating with care in the comfort of the situation he grew familiar with. Dante stepped forward, placing his hand on the middle of the teen's back prodding soothingly in recapturing his human side for a fitting introduction. "I'd like to formally introduce you. Hanson this is-"

"Shut up. I know who he is." He hassled with the apron, giving no care to its ties as it simply tore off his body clumped into a ball and set with the food while it took far too long to cross a plain lounge, getting to the centre where Nero met him with arms wide open and patient for one of his puzzle pieces to fit perfectly in his embrace, immediately placing his face into the incubus' chest and clutching tightly around his lower back, feeling the emotions creep little by little while a film reel played in the background solemnly recalling a smaller version of himself being held like this all those years ago. Without being as cheesily clichéd as his vocabulary went, the snug fit of missed cause was absolute, their frayed, burnt edges crumbling to ash at their feet in a renewed sense of wonder and awe for the other, finally stealing their moment lost in the complicated cosmos of his upbringing and circumstance that lead to the time spent apart while still in reach. Hanson held him close willing all buried emotion to seep into the air Nero breathed, gently fluffing his way down the human's scalp who silently pleaded for him to not let go until he'd gotten every complaint out of his system, left with nothing but utter calm and love for the demon that had done one wrong too many in his own books, pulling him closer as if the world would end had he not treasured the hug and the undeniable baggage rolling alongside like cursed carry-on the pair had no intention of collecting. The boy relished the warmth most of all, not a side-effect of his tenacious cooking but resonating from a place deep within and potent enough to feel the seeping result skip a beat, racing at the speed of his thoughts in perpetual activity while cleverly disguising it in deep, echoing breaths, silently inscribing the tale of this very moment as one he graciously allowed himself to remember along with the longing, stronger pull on his shirt making him cave in as a reflex to softly nuzzle into the boy's soft vanilla soaked strands filling his lungs with the scent of finessed regret he'd spend the rest of his life paying for. 'It's been too long' he thought, earning a soft smile from Dante who followed through with a curt nod to the feat playing out as he had pictured and more.

 _You both needed this._

 _You tricked me._

 _You should've seen it coming._

The comment broke his stoic caress and smiled into his crown, smoothing the silver behind the perking inquisitive ears as the demon kissed the spot for the subtle tingling to make sense, earning the same shy grin printed into Hanson's clothes. "I guess I should have," he said out loud, his voice velvetly chipping at any ice not yet broken by their initial wordless reunion, practically melting with the molten dust drawing into the expensive Persian later proving an ache to clean.

"Mhm-hmmhmm," said the boy, clearly not a fan of peeling himself from euphoria for the sake of a conversational snippet.

And adhering to his mannerisms, Hanson let out the cutest giggle at the vibrating tickles against his torso. "What?"

He bent low and spoke softly to the boy's burning ears, tilting him at the jaw for a glance into his beaming mushy greens filled to the brim in unmatched gratitude at the opportunity to see him, and most of all have him know who he really was. "I'm Nero."

Nearly on the brink of tears, the taller man smiled wholesomely, feeling the ungodly creases crinkle his face like a badly wrapped Christmas present about to explode. "I'm Hanson." Two words had never felt better leaving his plump mouth, planting another peck atop his forehead to bask in pride at the man he'd become before carefully pulling himself away and standing at arm's length, meeting the puzzled blues as he stood rooted to the spot while a hand extended out to him kindly, enticing him to mirror the earthly gesture in the proper manner of greeting. "It's good to finally meet you; I've heard some great things."

Nero played along, his boyish charm tempting a glance at the twins positioned behind him and shaking the powerful hand, twisting his neck with the only four words he could muster. "Thank you. For everything."

He gripped tighter, unable to veil the out of control hormones suddenly peaking their troublesome heads causing his voice to crack under strain of his influence and impact that served him in his line of need, clearing his throat as he looked to the emeralds for succour in a flailing panic of emotion rightly expressed with his back turned to the pair who seldom saw this side of him without provocation. To his surprise a single tear fell in unison down their right cheeks, digging a trench through clear skin to their strong, squared jaws holding back the rest that had fallen in line with their deepest desires. "Anytime." The incubus sniffed, gliding his thumb over the delicate skin on the back of the human hand. "Can we go back to hugging so you can never remember me being a snotty mess?" Nero merely shied away as he strung small nods together, stepping across the gap to resume his trance and folding his arms over the span of Hanson's back while he defied his seven foot frame to nestle into the boy's neck, his lips quivering as it hit bare skin in a most content sigh the boy had ever heard, making an effort to stand closer to ease the burden on his spine.

As Dante found it difficult to look anywhere else Vergil was quite the opposite, turning his whole body to face his brother partially ignoring the haven they'd created for themselves, easily observing the mess of colours on the pedestal standing next to the front door. "What's wrong, Verge?"

The older shook his head along the negative implication his sibling stated between the lines. "We take his presence for granted; we come home, he's there. We wake up, he's there. That is the face of a man who has waited a long time for that hug – excuse me if I choose to give him a little privacy given our position."

"Or maybe… just maybe… You're the slightest bit touched by this scene-"

"I'm dead from the neck down. We have very different definitions of the word 'touched'."

"Oh come on admit it. You're happy this is happening."

Vergil shrugged. As charily as he could. "I share a history with both, how can I not?"

For all intents and purposes, Dante tilted his gaze and met the subdued hybrid in the middle of his 'crisis' doing everything in his power to avoid the centre of the living room. "I know minding your business is your thing, but it's only gonna get worse."

Vergil had conveniently forgotten Lars' involvement in the plot, faking caution with the stepping stone of the opening act to lead into the real deal breaker currently – and thankfully – hanging up laundry on the roof that by some miracle Nero didn't see and vice versa. "It's sweet," and he swivelled to full view, the duo quietly exchanging sentiments of the human-teen kind irrevocably locked onto one another unable to pull away. "Are you happy?"

Cue the hurried orchestra in the background to audibly direct the plot twist in all its sentient glory. "Did… did you just say something nice?" Cue the even faster melody to dictate how many slices of his body would be strewn over the apartment had the blue demon not selected a cautionary, handsome glare that spoke volumes to the benefit of his physique staying in one manageable piece. "I take it back. Memory deleted. Moving forward."

Dante prayed to his father's throne the atypical apology was suitable to gloss over the mistake, his twin looking the least fazed to their interaction. "I never guessed he had it in him. To cry."

Hold on… just a damn minute. "You've never seen him cry?"

He hated admitting it, and paired with the look of understandable disbelief on his brother's face was an unneeded screw in the bottomless, metaphorical coffin. "Not happy tears-"

The sliding door to the balcony opened smoothly, giving off a miniscule thud hitting the inside wall of their kitchen while a build of black clambered into the space with an empty laundry basket covered in raindrops propped under his arm. His hulking mass aside, Lars walked gently over the doorframe wiping his heavy soles on the straw mat designed to catch all the dirty footprints his boots were meant to leave the tiled floor after the unannounced burst of rainfall, running them a third time for good measure before craftily sliding the grey plastic to its designated spot under the stairs. He finally exhaled, dropping his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck as if returning from a full half day's hard labour, tweaking it left and right while kneading the mildly flamed muscle underneath his incredible mane of pure, silky black whisping with the ministrations of his fingers. His arm wormed to the radio mounted on the wall out of habit, clicking a large button downward and permitting a cackle of static to envelop the room as it searched for the proper frequency to butt in on his colleagues' workday, owing the intrusion to him merely 'checking in' or 'listening for anything nearby' that none of them ever fell for. The line was clear on the other end in a coordinated tactic at the intrusion of a new player on their line – they knew him too well. His second in charge echoed down the speaker. "Lars, you shouldn't be on here."

"I know. I'm just-"

"-checking in? Thanks, but we have it covered."

Judging from his curtness, he was speaking under the Chief's orders. Asshole. "I'm sure you do-"

"It's the first day of your week off; not that difficult to tune out." The voice disappeared momentarily, replaced by the laughter of the rest of his team. "We know you're not bored."

Dante wasn't a secret in his department and they took every opportunity to remind him of that. "I'm not, but-"

"Hold on a second." The circle of noise went silent as footsteps approached. Shit. "Lars? Is that you?"

Salazar came through loud and clear. "Yeah."

"What the fuck did I tell you this morning? Turn this thing off."

Lars fought with all his might to keep himself from laughing. "I will, but-"

"We have everything under control here, detective." It was a miracle the thunderous words hadn't shattered the poor handset. "Rest. Please. I want you at two hundred percent when you get back in the office."

Although he appreciated it, it wasn't enough. "Salazar-"

"Chief," he interrupted, daring a string of formality from his lasting friendship over an official channel of communication, "and no. Do you have such little faith in your team that you won't give THEM a week vacation?"

If he put it that way, half of the guilt fell in their laps. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

A brief silence ensued, falsely lifting his spirits. "There is: fuck off, and that's an order. Over."

"Alright." He had no option but to take the loss with nippy dignity. "Over."

The relief was felt though the wavelength. "Regards to the family and the young one."

Both sides went dead. "You didn't say over-"

"GET OFF THE DAMN RADIO, DETECTIVE!"

The static returned like a raucous slap to the face and an amused sigh escaped him without reason, lolling his head straight to the sink and going for a glass in the cupboard above his head, lifting the faucet slowly to pour himself a drink and gulping it in two seconds flat. He repeated the action, finished it faster, only now noticing the delicious smells from the feast wafting behind him. "The rain didn't do much damage. Let's see how long the sun decides to last." Setting the cup in the sink, he remained facing the opposite way not wanting his baby brother to see the expression that usually accompanied the stress relief that was laundry day, furthering the younger's understanding of why he did it in the first place: to occupy his mind in thick shards sharp enough to break his dissociative train of thought would do the trick, his focus on something small and meaningful toward a contribution of their household and his own brain taking earned intervals of gold breaking through a void darker than his natural hair colour. "With our luck, maybe the darker half will be dry and we can carry on with the rest of whatever plan you have that you refuse to tell me." Lars' voice was soft, almost a whisper cracking like lightning against the interior.

But it was on good grounds too; if word got out Dante and Vergil were dropping by for lunch… Hanson wouldn't dare think of it considering the other surprise they brought along with them. "That's all your stuff."

He could tell he was turned away too, and reasons evaded him. "You said you prefer lighter colours."

"I said I prefer colour – I refuse to walk around looking like I'm hopping funerals." Hanson played along, tempering the oncoming harshness on the edge of a soft fluffy cloud of reassurance using his own ignorance to his and the other three's advantage. "Lars, there's something I need you to d-"

"You'd be surprised at how good you might look."

He tried again. "Forget about the clothes for a second-"

"It'd bring out your eyes, ya know. Makes it easier to nab those humans-"

"-Brother-"

"-And it's a match made in Hell. Strictly speaking…" He trailed off for the last time, taking a deep breath and blowing a massive strawberry to his appliances.

The twins and Nero watched the scene unfold from the door to the sink, keeping irrefutably still and quiet completely in awe he hadn't yet picked up the extra three presences in his living room, following him like hungry vultures to their delightful prey teasing his tail feathers a short distance away with two shy smiles and one content smirk, the other incubus moving the human for a better view of the beautiful mess on illusive display – the morning must have done a number on him as well, resorting to the sole chore he manned and hated simultaneously to get out of the harmless, looping tornado he was locked in, even after Dante had properly fashioned the key, in his kitchen, alcoholic coffee and gratuitous quickie aside. The back and forth of the incubi only solidified his unwillingness to dwell on the sickly sweet start to his day, showing no visible inclination of his amorphous emotions to fire back on the otiose remarks he wasn't paying attention to and replying absolute nonsense to his brother's tender appeals. "Please turn around."

Lars was pulled back to real life heeding the tentative request, spinning on his feet with a goofy smile and making half the rotation as another voice came, one that boomed all the way to his knotting stomach clenching in realisation. "Good afternoon detective."

* * *

Hanson dug his fingers in Nero's hair in signal of the final act walking down from the roof, taking smaller steps back and around the boundaries of their endearing bubble to turn the boy's concentration away from him and onto his kin, smiling as the body in his clasp went limp upon first sight of the huge silhouette he had seen on multiple occasions in his early childhood, and remembering the expanse of his back in full view leaving only after his fifth telling of bedtime stories and mandatory lockup of the oak double doors in the front of the orphanage; the demon made the trivial look more majestic than it deserved, stuffing the left side of his face into Hanson's chest in an effort to stay silent and not alert his lifelong caregiver while he went about his nonchalant rant with his teammate and boss and having it sound like the first time he wouldn't get his way, cutting him off before he could sweet-talk into what he was looking for and finally retiring to the steel basin for his trip to the kitchen not to seem like an overall loss to his ego. The broad torso vibrated under their light conversation and scraped his jaw, unable to tear his wondrous blues away from the unmoving, atavistic power minding his business in the opposite direction as redemption practically stared him in the face. Carefully, he peeled himself away, plucking the remnants of his courage exhausted on the first bombshell as he glared to the second flexing his physique to answer the last plea, further dousing the wish in three words Lars truly didn't expect to come from behind him.

He couldn't turn faster: while his hands supported his balance on the countertop behind, the transcendent sight before him knocked the wind out of his lungs, mentally noting a good few deep breaths for the oxygen to reach his brain and fully comprehend the picture pulled straight from his fantasy: the twins adorned a similar heartfelt stance in the corner of his eye maintaining a passive quiet for the reunion of a lifetime, sporting tiny smirks as a fitting retaliation to Lars' complete surprise at his baby boy in the middle of the living room. Steadying himself, he walked with confidence to the centre island and paused, not wanting to take another step as their last meet flooded his peripheral view thinking of the not so good terms and sided appropriate explanations he abandoned on the park bench concealed in dried beef and creamy dessert. His rationality failed him the second time, raising an eyebrow aimed at his subconscious for five precious seconds wasted as he stared at the boy's face, allowing the human an unholy glimpse of the glowing green eyes he should have recognised at first glance, glinting tiny specks of shy elation as he slowly came to. Now wasn't the time to think; it was time to do, to speak, to learn, to start from scratch the relationship stripped from them both for his safety and security as a young man with dreams and legacies to fulfil. Nero remained rooted as the detective kicked an imaginary pile of autumn leaves by his feet, varying shades of time etched in discolouration crinkling underneath as he resumed his relaxed form timidly scratching his head at the polite greeting. "Hello." He unknowingly exhaled, a heart-breaking smile emerging from eons of layered dust to suit the moment.

Nero smiled back, heartily, wholesomely, as if his heart just somehow knew it couldn't resist the man. "I owe you for the ice cream."

A perfectly timed failure on his part. "Don't worry about it; my treat." He laced his fingers and let it hang loosely at his belly, lost for words to frankly explain his sprinting chest. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he replied quickly, proudly tucking his silver strands behind his ears in case he didn't believe him. "Great actually. You?"

"My son just came home. How do you think I'm doing?" To his own surprise his voice was solid concrete, riding the pleasant wavelength of calm and nearly collected long enough to reach him, his denim-clad shoulders easing into the soft atmosphere made jelly by his sombre, heartfelt confession no one would guess how long he'd been practicing. The gentlest, sweetest of smiles fell carefully onto his face, enveloping all his thoughts in a tempered warmth to match the moment and the happiness brought to him the instant he heard his voice, that crisp demand veiling enduring longing the boy wished to eradicate while he still had the chance. Lars blushed and tilted his head, smirking as if his outburst justified the obvious. "If you can't answer, I can't explain it." Out of every demonic resource in that huge frame, finding words weren't currently at the top of his priority list; the sentiment, small and shy as if breathed fact could no longer evade, reached out to the incubus like an invisible hand clawing through the thick air making mincemeat of the unseen as it bolstered a direct path to the bigger man's chest, melting through clothing and bone for a vice so needing, so youthfully desperate that the healed scar tissue swell between his fingers echoing the struggling rhythm all the way to his elbow. "It's me."

"It's you," the boy repeated, somewhat afraid of the cautious finality that stood a few feet away – what he'd come to expect upon the 'first' meeting couldn't come close to now, a self-induced barrage of bullets gnawing their way on every inch of his body until the will for composure disappeared in front of his glowing blues, the first offenders to give his volatile game away. "You… you're here… right here…" he trailed off, falling forward in coordinated steps to last him square into Lars' open arms cowering into his chest cavity as pure reflex while his hands gripped and pulled at the black material praying the action brought him even closer to his long-lost saviour. The demon held on equally tight although careful to filter his unbridled strength, wrapping around as much of Nero as he could, clearing his throat at the light trembling in the fragile body; he was finally home, breathing deeply in many attempts to speak but shrouded in too much comfort at once, feeling the tell-tale squeeze at his lower back and triggering the film reel began flooding under his eyelids filtered through a sieve to solely display the stills containing them making the most of time and love abandoned by acceptance and worth predisposed on a lonely facet that had no place in the world, culminating a deeper, richer existence driven in want and not by obligation. The better half of his memory shone brighter the stronger his guardian held him, his powerful fingers digging into the shaking skin as it simultaneously relaxed his fluxing conscience basking rather in the unblemished emotion at its peak in the carefree embrace bursting in every direction like a restless snowglobe: friable and unhinged with shards of themselves in a constant state of motion to behold its magical beauty, descending to abnormal serenity with flakes settled at their feet waiting patiently for the moment of unrest to be swathed in colourful flecks of their journey as they embarked on building better and happier memoirs the complete family deserved for so long. Lars stole a quick glance to the triplet and smiled softly to them, dropping his cheek to rest on the human's crown while a solitary tear skewed his gorgeous face out of view, tensing his jaw just enough to tease the head of hair under his chin. He sniffed, muddling his humanity behind the motion of scrunching a fistful of silver to no avail. "Don't you dare-"

"Shhhhhhh, I know…" He rubbed in circles on Nero's back, sinking deeper. "I know…"

The silence was almost deafening if it wasn't for a tiny cough from Dante that drew the other's attention to him, leaning into a raised hand scratching his ear. "No need to hide, brother."

"I'm not hiding anything." In all fairness, they would have believed him had it not been for the small crack in the last syllable of his denial. "Are you?"

Vergil caught the proud chuckle in his throat, turning to the overwhelmingly honeyed taste on his left shifting his weight between two angles of indecision; the glare was welcomed, however unswayed it may have been, burning holes into his inquisitive face brandishing an expression he hadn't yet seen. "What is it?"

Hanson stopped, shifting his balance to the twin backing him into a metaphorical corner. "I like this look on you."

The sharp visage maintained its lifeless stature, his eyes burning like cold bonfires in the dead of Winter. "Too late for that-"

"Not in that way," he slurred, looking to the crumpled mess his brother and kin had become with the hopes Vergil would follow, seeing the flames saturate to composed, icy ash brimming in selfish intrigue. "You look happier."

His green orbs flickered like lightning at the hugging duo as the hybrid turned, eyeing the most vulnerable version of Nero in existence, framed in the safest place in the known cosmos. "He's happy, therefore I'm happy."

The incubus caught the hint and didn't dwell further. "If that's all I get out of you for now, I'll take it." Hanson's billion-dollar smile clicked into place perfectly, angled slightly downward for its full force aimed at the frozen being with untrained effort in making him feel at ease in the poignant turn of events on show around him. A bark of silent thunder snapped to his sibling who practically begged Dante nearer, beckoning with a painfully tender expression that he'd be an idiot to refuse, taking a measured breath of tainted oxygen as he slowly marched to the melancholily ecstatic pair in their bubbled reunion, walking on cloudy autopilot to grant any and every wish leaving his fiancé's lips and to the best of his demonic ability, shying behind the boy with a simple hand on his hip to make him aware of the extra presence. Instinctively, Dante slid to Lars' right side, his other hand cupping the strong jaw by instruction of the inner little red creature unable to curb its own thirst; the tilt to his head was dangerous enough, the single digit coercing his chin to an awaiting kiss intentionally inappropriate by proximity as their tongues performed a hurried, skilful waltz before the human came to, hiding his faltering demeanour in the uniform of the man he'd made victim too many times to count – being so close to Dante opened another world of possibilities for the other, taking a chance at a slow peck to the boy's temple while in fervent distraction still under the dire spell triggered by an invisible tripwire the second Nero had made his move. Vergil regarded the rite of passage with utmost respect before him, feeling the smidgen of a ball get caught in his throat and unscripted heat in his cheeks as the image reached completion, seeing three of the four beings he looked up to in wholesome serenity and fitting inspiration to his earlier verdict coming full circle, watching his beloved with a keen eye and his reality unravel to his positively naïve stature brimming with promise. Hanson glimpsed eagerly, relishing his bystander status as a witness to the varying shades behind the usual blue-eyed tabula rasa, observing for fun's sake altering to the true depth of his worry and care for the human – a scene he'd seen twice in his many centuries alive. "You wanna give me a hand in the kitchen?"

The younger incubus tentatively squeezed his wrist, purposely capturing his focus for the banal task at hand and thinking him a perfect assistant. "Why not?" he said passively, following the taller man a few feet to the kitchen and the spread on the island, Nero in his blindspot the entire three second trip.

By this time, the boy had returned to Lars in giving Dante some space, happily enfolded in his arms as a seamless cover recovering the paleness to his face, controlling his emotions to an equally dry fruit roll-up after satisfying his quota for the next few years. He let out a sigh and braced for impact, snaking around the lean waist and twisting his neck directly to the hybrid who, too, caught his drift, tucking a wild strand behind his burning ears for added reassurance outside the boundary of his dreams; Nero took delight to the warm hand like never before, leaning into the touch all the way to his fingertips until he need only look forward at his hero giggling like a maniac cradling what was essentially still his baby boy in his own strange bubble holding on tightly in case his kiss back to earth was a faceful of Persian carpet. Nero unintentionally fell victim to too many sensations before the grin made an appearance, broad and toothy as it always was. "This seems familiar."

Lars nodded slowly, gripping clumps of his coat at having to recall the same posture and its implication. "The day I saved you…" his vice faltered, picked up by the toned ones around his midsection in worried, forlorn blues. "Let's not have replay value on that one."

Thankfully, that one was hazy with detail. "I didn't mean it like that." He was on route to a hearty chuckle utterly unable to see anything but the good side of the spectrum; the wondrous sound shattered the tense glass wall that cornered each of them choosing to ignore the cycle of events before that moment, most of which he had no clue but sufficiently guess, and breaking Lars' little heart as a ball of minted excitement clinging like a koala to his chest. "You can't disappear anymore."

Dante drew a deep breath and puffed his cheeks, comically emphasising a single digit on each hand in the boy's direction and speaking softly, gruffly, for effect. "The tribe has spoken."

"I'm serious," said Nero, finally unclasping his brick wall of a hug to place the demonic hands on his neck, holding for dear life onto the powerful wrists that triggered a concentration of static in the incubus' brain and forcing his will of outright focus on the youth orbs seeming on the verge of a rollercoaster once again. "I won't lose you again-"

"You didn't lose me."

"You don't see it that way because you knew you were always there; I didn't. Don't get me wrong, I understand why, but now… now you really can't just vanish. There's one extra seat this train." He gave one last crushing squeeze to the delicate skin, the soft pulse slowing under the gentle intensity of his held gaze sparkling with potential. "Square one. Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed quickly, pure relief encompassing his seven-foot frame and ending in his fingers, tenderly cupping the boy's jaw and drooping his head in a whisper too endearing for his own sake. "I'll never leave. Never again." The promise was sealed with a tiny kiss to Nero's forehead, unexpected and true to those words at the core of is very existence.

And though he envisioned standing there all day and melting into those green eyes, a single thought had plagued him all day, and his luck with perfect timing came as expected. There was no one better to ask. "Could we go to the roof? I want to talk to you about something." Lars hadn't noticed Dante left his side for the company in the kitchen, locating the twins a few feet away in query and answered with a gentle shake of his head. "No. Just you. Please."

* * *

Instead of helping as per the verbal agreement, the hand Vergil offered went straight to the food and into his mouth, nibbling on pieces of everything that made an appearance on the countertop in front of him. Hanson mentally slapped himself for asking his assistance when all was finished, and at the rate he was going, a second batch would need to be prepped just to be enough to eat. "Think you could leave some for us, Verge?"

The blue demon continued chewing as his brother plonked on the stool opposite the younger whizzing beast in the middle of his triple checks, happily claiming another one of his favourite Hanson had clearly produced on purpose: jalapeno poppers stuffed with cream and cheddar cheese wrapped in bacon strips and deep fried, drizzled with streaks of maple syrup and a sprinkling of sesame seeds – a recipe straight from Heaven and Vergil fell for it every… single… time. "You brought this on yourself."

He had a good point. "It's going to kill you."

"I've eaten Dante's cooking and I'm still here."

Dante exhaled while speaking. "And THAT is how a compliment is made, people!"

"I'm in a good mood. If you want it to persist, you'll let me eat."

Vergil took a gently defiant bite of his next popper as the frame of blue walked to his side with conviction, straightening out his uniform as impressions still mattered to the man he loved, softly making him turn with a smaller hand tugging on the sizing strap of his coat. The hybrid licked some syrup off his thumb, facing Nero with glistening lip and full cheeks of mellow spice. "Is that an invite or did I interrupt something?"

The inability to answer truthfully stung more than the pepper inside his salivating mouth; he licked them slowly, biting the corner of his mouth for the more adamant drizzle. "What's wrong?"

His breathing took a turn for the worst, trying his utmost to remain calm under the circumstantial evidence to support at least one of them being stark naked. "Lars and I are going to the roof – that okay?"

A wince turned into a frown. "What do you mean by that?"

Genuine confusion caught them both by their tails. "I'm asking if it's okay-"

"My permission isn't needed." The other half of the snack hung in his grasp still steaming.

"I'm telling you where I'll be-"

"No need for that either." He, seductively, tapped his nose with his pinkie, smirking as if spewing common sense. "I can sniff you out wherever you go, and I won't have to because you'll be safe." He held the popper in front of the boy's mouth, knowing it had been a while since he had anything in his system to mix with his crazy metabolism. "Don't make that a habit. It's disturbing."

Nero saw too much in the tiny gesture, grabbing hold of the outstretched hand and blowing on the foodstuff just in case, taking a careful bite as he grazed his lips on and over his soft fingers adding layers to his first conscious experience of Hanson's culinary skill; strings of cheese interrupted his mouthful, dragging the goodness around his tongue with a deadpan aimed at his boyfriend's blandly shocked face, and gnawing off the final dregs in pure satisfaction at a physical and metaphorical plane, lifting his head as he swallowed his portion and let go of the hand that fed. "Mhmm. Sure thing."

Even Dante smelled the danger across the table, his half-lidded eyes matching his older sibling with thanks to the gods Vergil was the one stealing self-control in their shared womb. "Don't say it like that."

It was too good to pass up; a slyness ghosted his demeanour while stepping out of the kitchen, approaching a daydreaming Lars on the balcony – his colossal frame softened as the loneliness snapped like a crisp sugar wafer, uttering words in quick succession before marching past the party in the lounge as Nero took steps two by two up the spiral staircase. Lars returned from his bedroom quickly, running down the flight with something in his grasp and only stopping to plant an eager kiss on Dante's lips. Hanson waited for the last of the black to disappear outside, creeping closer to the hybrid who took his first breather since chomping down. "Since when has your favourite table turned?"

Both twins snapped their attention to the question, equally afraid of the answer in front of the composed demon. "That's nothing for you to worry about."

The younger heard the slap in his subconscious and Hanson felt it. "Alrighty then," he said, snatching the platter and setting it in the lounge in three milliseconds. "Sweetheart, would you mind bringing the rolls over please?"

Dante shot up from his chair seizing two trays of baked greatness. "Sure thing darlin'. Be right there."

Vergil was fast enough to grab one off the tray but the original was faster, closing the distance and swatting his limp grip to catch the baked sphere mid fall before hurling it across the room where Dante set it back in place, leaving with not so much as a word that could explain the hellish expression shooting sultry emerald arrows at his sculpted chest.

* * *

Lars slipped the accessory in the back pocket of his jeans feeling the tiny box poke him with every step, the ones closer to the top bringing with it an unnecessary mass packing on his shoulders while his usually calm and collected constitution cycled through the painstaking possibilities of his invitation and ranking them from worst to heart-crushing as an exaggerated precaution in his first trial as a father, sidestepping each generic response and reaching the roof nearly destroying Hanson's garden of questionable plants and vegetables. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the still air for the lone figure in uniform at the furthest corner doing a scan of his own too composed to suit the scenario grinding the few conscious nerves Lars had left. Nero looked comfortable, relaxed, satiating a sudden wanderlust for the topographical greatness of a bird's eye view a stone's throw from his current abode, the last few clouds of the mismatched morning clearing as an outward reflection of the human's state of mind. The incubus made sure to step quietly, coyly locking with clear, sparkling aqua at the three-quarter point in his beeline. The boy stepped out of trajectory and watched the space be filled by beautiful darkness. "I thought I could see the shop from here."

He forgot his stature, towering into the view of the two brick chimneys gracing the top of Dante's shop. "Better at night with the huge red glow. Either that or Dante's blinds are wide open and he's stark naked with a towel draped over his shoulders." His attempt to lessen the tension in his own shoulders had apparently done the trick as a hearty snort followed by the lightest of punches to his arm erupted next to him, playfully swaying in the breeze enough to be poked in his backside serving a proper reminder. Now was as good a time as any, wasn't it? "I have something for you," he said softly, plucking the box from behind in a purposely slow turn, his smile growing in time to face Nero and balance the trinket in the palm of his hand. "Nothing too grand, but I'm sure this is within the boundary of square one. It should go nicely with your new uniform."

The smaller man merely stared at the outstretched limb like a foreign object beyond his worth, glowering at every angle on each of its six faces in the hopes of seeing through the protective shell; he gave up swiftly with confusion and intrigue blazoned like a firework as he continued to eye it strangely, unsure of how to respond. A furrow in his brow deepened as he watched himself reach for the gift without command from incoherent headquarters and holding it like a sacred relic yet rushing the opening as a starved ten-year-old and their first Kinder Joy, marvelling at the one-part-toy-other-part-snack of it all. But something more valuable stared back, becoming more stunned at the evolving core taking shape: a curl of double-strapped brown leather sat snuggly in its foam indentation at the centre, a solitary buckle on the outer layer tightly fastened and forming a perfect barrier around a thick-set silver ring intricately detailed by the same symbol on his coat with twisted borders replicating a shade of royalty and power carved deep enough to penetrate his soul and bloodstream; and the creamy stitching on the wristband complimented the subtler side to the mischief-inducing accessory glinting a trouble-making status on debut. Happy impatience creeped along Lars' features while no reaction found its way to the surface – just a wide-open face void of dialogue and 'deepening' wrinkles across his flawless skin. "May I?" The blank canvas once before turned on its heel, a ghost of confusion past replaced by full acknowledgement of his new place in the hierarchy, extending the keepsake and its final destination in informal presentation to bring his attire full circle, coy calmness be damned: the spongy mould gave way for the soft claws to grab and slide out with care, making quick work in wrapping the strained leather on Nero's strong, skinny wrist, fastening with breathing space for his rapidly quickening pulse. Finally, he tucked away the extra material under the keeper and free loop, rotating his arm to unneededly triple check the simple handiwork. Lars went for the gleaming silver ring and inspected it slowly, hiding a proud smile as he slid the detailed jewellery on his left index finger for a perfect fit. A few seconds was all he needed, squeezing the digits as if letting go meant the end of the world, a hastened fear of slipping from his grasp creeping up his spine like a nimble spider of freezing dread disappearing in the clear blue lake rippling in the boy's eyes. He raised his equally sparkling greens to the sky and gave a hard blink, unfairly using his scorching skin to evaporate two pindrop trails as soon as they fell and nearly missing the look of awe and a reassuring grip bringing him back to the land of the living. "I'm sorry-"

"Thank you. I'm never taking this off." The apology seemed as out of place like his forlorn expression, tempting a half circle from the assumed atmosphere initiated by the man in question. "I'm not one to call people out, but your face is a bit-"

"You're making a mistake."

Again. Out of nowhere. "What are you talking about?"

"We're jumping over the first line of defence here. What am I supposed to think?" The sole, rushed breath performed a deep contrast to his complex demeanour reflecting the murky erratic thoughts plaguing his already uncomfortable mental standing perched on a branch of the world tree peeking to the tiny hole of light punched from the steep yet rosy darkness he'd become synonymous with; the pretty precipice's invitation grew far too welcoming for the questioning azure holding onto him, feeling the relief of a single blink encouraging an anxious leap lost in the crevices of his perfect skin. Unversed to the inner complexities radiating through his pitch-black follicles, the rooted uncertainty merely broke the surface as a minor frown that slowly pursed his plump lips while incoherent words formed behind them, talking shape to something resembling a sentence. "I'm scared."

No part of him depicted fear of any kind. "Yeah, I don't smell it."

His effort to ease the sudden uneasiness succeeded, the huge pair of demonic shoulders shaking alongside a miniscule chuckle. "Out of practice. The risk of me saying something you'd rather not hear is fairly high-"

"-and that makes you the perfect person to ask." Nero took a step closer and finally released his semi vice, letting his arms swing lazily at his sides as Lars remained clinging to air. "I'm not asking them because they won't answer me and think of me in the process-"

"Do you really think I won't?" His voice was dark and commanding, a deadly fractal of beartraps coated in dark chocolate growing offended with each second of silence that passed walking toward the edge of his rooftop in daddy shoes that barely fit.

Without a doubt a tougher cookie than the twins combined, but who else? He just needed to explain why. "You've said before you've been in love too long to offer any sort of advice. Saying that implies I can't go to Dante, and I know this will reach Vergil eventually; I've already figured out the dialogue, but the ending isn't the one I need."

And as much as he couldn't, arguing with logic was Dante's forte – heaving some oxygen to the rusting clutter upstairs, he watched in third person as his avatar footed into the widening tunnel freefalling with the caution gravity would allow. "I can't ignore you being a factor."

"I don't expect you to – what I need is your honesty." That was guaranteed regardless of how much the truth would hurt. The demon faced him, lifting his palms and flexing his fingers in a hit-me-with-your-best-shot manner in a final act of toughness before being hit square in the gut. The other smiled in silent thanks, unconsciously trailing the stitching on his wrist in rhythm with an exhale stuck in his chest until permitted to leave. "Do you enjoy being a demon?"

"I absolutely love it, but that's entirely subjective – I know nothing else. Being part human doesn't mean anything in adopting the lifestyle," he said without missing a beat, staring him down proudly as he crossed his arms behind him in resigned, military fashion.

Wait, what? "You're part human?" This wasn't one of those times Nero nervously stalled to delay his point. Absolutely not.

Lars triumphantly wore his tiny smirk, taking the delay as a compliment while thick droplets trickled to the tips of his fingers. "It's a miracle I'm here, made more confusing when I found about El-" he stopped. Gave a chuckle. "Hanson."

He didn't join in. "What do you m-"

"Out with it." A friendly growl triggered a tennis match between human smirk and smile, brandishing two different brands of uncertainty that they were both uncomfortable with. "Is this a half-hearted attempt at you coming clean about Vergil?" To the naked eye Lars was picture perfect serene, mere curiousness dabbed his pale cheeks as the boy plucked the wrong string of his assumed patience; what he didn't see was the overly human anxiety unpleasantries lacing his hands, being ultra-careful the breaks in his bones didn't disturb the absurdly comfortable silence while Nero grappled for words with glimpses of a shy smile between each new syllable. "Hard to miss how smitten he is." It wasn't that he could be read like a book, but a demon obsessed left no stone unturned when it came to the complexities of understanding – his title and career choice left no room for error either. And it was at that moment the human realised the struggle between his facial muscles and consciousness confused in a frozen, lopsided grin equivalent to a mild stroke. He wasn't expecting this… making him cling harder, sniffing a fouler predicament wafting like a cloud above the boy's head. "This isn't you not feeling the same way, is it?"

"I do, I do..." Although the thought trailed off, the incubus smiled at the twang of conviction and look of playful disapproval that he'd bother asking that kind of question. He peeled himself away from further danger and raised his hands in surrender – unharmed – crunching his nose in recognition of his momentary lapse in judgement. But the frown never left, the tiny dimple in his cheek moving up his features to deepen the crevice atop his nose. "I realised after he said he'd give us a chance, something changed. When it was one-sided, it ate at me, sure, but now that it's reciprocated I can't stop having these thoughts I'll mess up. When it's just me, I know it's not hurting him. And the reality of disappointing him is kicking in."

The saddened baby blues stared him straight in the face, and it hurt; his soul was sold to the devil centuries ago and yet remnants of it resonated deeply in his stomach, making him remember a time he too had those useless thoughts with Dante and putting a damper on the moments he'd wasted trying to convince himself it was all in his head and had nothing to worry about. Easier said than done. "That's going to happen, Nero-"

"I know, but perfection is the end all with him. I don't know how else to keep him happy."

All he wanted to do was tighten the loose screws with a rough shake of his shoulders hoping Nero would see that he'd been on the right track all along. "Do you think he's miserable with all that's happened until now?"

His huge hands, however, had made their way to Nero's sturdy frame, squeezing a tad too hard, and he didn't seem to mind. "Things don't seem easy anymore. It's strange that it's so final-"

"What are you asking me?" Lars bent to his level claiming nothing from the muddy orbs. "You don't think you deserve to be with him?"

He touched a nerve without notice: the youthful visage went strangely serious and sharp, scared, nervous, his body tensing for a blow his guardian hated he couldn't see. Nero grabbed both his wrists and softly pressed his thumbs to each pulse, drooping his shoulders to think logically. "Follow me for sensibility's sake."

And there it was. "Then please lead, dear wolf."

He tried to move, and Nero didn't let him. He needed space to think clearly, to give his son what he asked in the best manner possible – the proximity bubble was where irrationality kicked in by lack of distance among racing minds and going back on the very reason Nero came to him in the first place: his chilly demeanour and outright denial of anything irrational by normal standards. Yet he second guessed how true he remained on that path, a clear blur now approaching the fork like a poisonous fog purposely veiling the signs for each entrance and cleverly enforcing his sense of responsibility to the boy. He hated thinking, even if he did it best among the four. "He's a demon. I'm a human. My forever will last another seventy years, possibly less. That's not enough ti-" The thought drifted like a derailed train off a cliff, his words plummeting into the pits of his subconscious after its not-so-careful construction. "When you claim to grow old with someone, it's exactly that. Years are going to pass for me, and it will show, not on him… What I'm trying to say is…" Nero prodded Lars' knuckles like a piano, playing down his forearm to reformulate the modulus of their interaction to serve an actual purpose. "Knowing I have to… leave… and give him up at some point without a say… without having proved…" An unsuccessful arrangement of random notes perfectly reflected his thoughts in progress to the surface. "It's selfish, but-"

"You don't think he hasn't given it some thought before his revelation to you today?" Credit was given where it was due. Vergil simultaneously overthought the unnecessary and too gave less than a shit when it came to any and everything. There was no doubt he gave equal parts left and right brain before his morning admittance to his lover, also driven by how little he was phased by the boundaries of their new relationship. "I've known him longer than Dante and I can tell you that he may have had that line of thinking – and being the solitary thinker he is – decided it wasn't worth worrying over considering the reward standing in front of him, or lying under him, whatever he's into these days." A single wink turned Nero's cheeks a pretty pink for three whole seconds. "And I guarantee… Your worries are justified, and talking to him will make you feel bett-" and the part he was avoiding began making sense, the true pieces of the puzzle formed by other tinier fragments from the past ten minutes clicking together seamlessly, driving the fog backward like a demented fan hellbent on him making the right choice. "This has nothing to do with any of that."

The melody on his arms took pause. "I couldn't go to them with this-"

Of course he fucking couldn't. "I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying."

"I was hoping you'd help me figure that out."

"I can't." By God he wished he could. He really did. "This is for you and Vergil to-"

"How do I get through, Lars? How do I get him to not dismiss the idea before I give my side of the story?"

"If he does that, you have to respect the reasons why," he said, finally finding it in himself to remove from the immediate circle, taking two visibly painful deep breaths as he combed through his jet-black locks electrified with possibilities at the end of the stick Nero was currently considering. Insane, crazy even, and could you blame him? No. Would he hate himself to agree? Possibly. All he knew was that whatever angle you viewed it, he was in a heap of trouble. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about this."

The boy saw it as a no brainer, a birth rite almost; it was owed to him. "I have things to prove, things I can't do in a human lifetime."

The black strands were now being pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of his head, using point two percent of his strength wringing out non-existent moisture to curb the growing itch at his crown. "And I won't ask what those are, but if Vergil's at the centre of it all, there's no harm in talking to him. He's a closed book when it comes to his inner circle, but he's a great listener. Stubborn as hell; never forget things have changed for him too, and still are – undertakings where he's needed to change aspects of himself to cater to you, and may I add done so with you just the way you are. He's being selfish too. He has amplified your worries to worse degree and yet… there he is. By your side." Damn, this good cop nonsense sucked his energy quicker than any succubus ever could. "You have to want this, or it's pointless."

Nero turned away from him, taking counted, tentative steps toward the edge of the roof while his unwavering voice boomed, his posture more reassured to his decision going forward. "What would you say? And please don't say it doesn't concern you."

Lars creaked his neck while letting his hair breathe, cascading over his broad shoulders as his hands rested on his small waist cocked to one side. "It doesn't, but I'd hope you'd trust your instincts. Regardless of what you decide, I'll be rooting on the side lines all the way although I would hope to convince you to stay human for as long as I can until you figure the time is right." A deep sigh met a tight pinch at the bridge of his nose – the signs of each path distorted to mere synonyms of one another, both endings shining in competing bright lights and slowly growing to prefer the bad ending with Nero's words feeding its daunting glow. "I don't want to have a say. All I can do is guide you. In case you forgot, I just promised not to leave you. Where do I go after that?"

The demon mistakenly caught the moment his heart skipped a beat, watching the restricting denim give him away after hearing what he assumed was good news to his request. He remained rooted unable to mask his pending excitement to the green light clicking in his head. "You'd be okay with me being a demon?"

"At the moment, I don't know how to feel about that statement." Even if he did, there was no chance in Heaven he'd say them out loud. Not yet at least. "There are many downsides considering your late adaptability-"

Nero spun on his heel. "Downsides?"

Of all things good and evil, he hadn't expected a clean run, did he? He was far too smart to think he'd get off scot free. Lars cocked an eyebrow and nodded comically, an incredulous smirk moving to the rhythm of his confusion. "Yes: mood swings, headaches, unbelievable libido and unbearable pain to your entire body... yeah, those are the only observed side effects…" The thought abruptly died, a tiny flame in a hurricane blown out by his own defeated agenda on the subject. "But it shouldn't-"

"I need more time. That's all I want."

"THERE ARE OTHER WAYS-" His voice felt like thunder in contrast to the rain-soaked sunny day, cutting himself off at sanity's verge as a potential spoiler to his vast knowledge in fear of that fearsome abstract humans clung to when all else failed – hope. But now wasn't the time. "We all do, and then we get to the point where it won't end, and you spiral out of control because the routine gets under your skin. Not only is it a huge step you can't take alone, there are no takebacks besides excruciating death, and even that won't come easy. That is something I wish to keep you far away from." To his credit, that was the plan all along sans regard to cost; to milk the concept was bad on his part, and yet all he could afford – the more he dwelled on its prospect the greyer it transformed, fusing in the gelatinous matter as reality in the making only hindered by the perpetual voices of threefold reason telling him he was out of his mind. Still… "You're a smart one, Nero, but you know what comes next. I hope you're prepared for it."

This was all a courtesy. By look and sound, Nero had far long made up his mind. The suspect stubbornly played coy and scratched his head as he walked toward his looming guardian. "I'm not looking forward to it."

"Whatever you chose, Vergil will be at the finish line. That's not a bad deal."

The incubus looked to the breaking sky while groping at lungfuls of air, pursing one end of his mouth for the audience of one to feast on. "You trust him."

He angled his head, emerald green meeting deep ocean blue, and joined smiles acknowledged their natural understanding. "With my life. With Dante's, Hanson's. With yours," he said, emphasizing his last word with a gentle bow of his head. "I look up to him." And with that ended another shred of serious conversation they were dreadedly and secretly thankful for. The human stared into the distance and absentmindedly admired the skyline behind Lars, tracing its outline until he drew to the patient orbs doused in misplaced concern at the sudden urge for his greens to wander over a view he'd seen many times before.

The indirect blessing turned him shy, trying and failing to mask the finality of the situation, mildly smug. "I love him."

Lars pulled his best well-yeah-or-we-wouldn't-be-here-talking-about-turning-you-into-a-demon-because-what-else-is-there face. "Break his heart, I'm obligated to track you down and break a bone."

He would surely hope so. "Death would be less painful and more forgiving."

"Indeed they shall. The twins are great fighters because I taught them. Imagine what I'm capable of." The wink did nothing to soften the mental blow seeping to his young face as Lars turned to leave, not getting nearly as far as he needed before stopped by a tug on his coat. The gentleness intrigued him, following the course his head tried to avoid but couldn't resist, seeing the picture he painted standing with a pleading look to his demeanour and convinced of a changed mind suiting his best interests. Instead, determined eyes and a stronger hand pulled him into position, allowing a lone exhale to leave his tempered mouth as Nero kissed him softly, trailing his fingertips at the incubus' neck to the base of his jaw. The other fondled with the oversized black buttons, accidentally untying one as he fell back on his heel in obeying the invisible force pulling him in the opposite direction and praying his impromptu action hadn't overstepped any boundaries he was unaware of.

"Thank you."

The demon licked his lips by default, resuming his imposing posture for the sake of more distance and the rising temperature in his face. "Always." A melting whisper with every ounce of his being behind it. "You ready to go downstairs?" Nero almost led the way had it not been for a bell ringing in Lars' head, halting the boy mid-step toward the spiral staircase leading to lunch. "Oh, of course you can stay up here and be alone for a minute."

If it weren't for his normal human walking speed, his broken arm would be difficult to explain over the sound of monstrous chewing. "What are you t-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll let the others know, okay?"

He couldn't seem to catch it. "What? Why-" Lars forcefully spun him one hundred and eighty degrees to Sunday, making his head spin twice as fast save for the lone blue smudge in the centre of his vision. As equilibrium returned, the quick absence behind him closed his window for a proper scolding, wishing he'd spelled it clearer than the whiplash-inducing route he chose. Cheeks puffed with air, his shoulders slugged as Vergil took the next millisecond to warp a hair's width away, his hands buried in his blue pockets wearing his usual blank stare with added ice in his irises. Dante knew the distinct secrets to get under his brother's skin, and never once had the distaste approached the boy in its full form as it had now. A confident hand reached to smooth the boy's hair and the ice chipped instantaneously, replaced by a deeper furrow travelling between his brows. Something was off. "What's going on?"

Vergil followed every strand with keen interest looking everywhere but Nero's gaze. "You tell me. I swore to stay out of your head. Don't make me go back on my word." Luckily for both of them, his head was pretty empty at the moment; this was his kryptonite, and the hybrid had every intention of abusing it to his will. He tangled his fingers on purpose, weaving softly, undetected, on the lower half of his head, closing the microscopic gap assuming the space was enough for him to crack under the pressure. "Are you okay?"

Deep, raspy, hypnotising. "Kinda perfect, actually."

The ghostings of a sneer left as soon as it came, gripping tighter and looking beyond the blissful puddle of denim enjoying himself to the fullest. "Was it good?"

Wha-Oh. Shit. Fewer brain cells perked, leaving him to his own devices to particularly word a half truth. "I acted on impulse-"

"That wasn't the question."

His voice was as bland as it could get. "It wasn't-"

"You're lying."

Nero blushed. Only a little. "His lips are soft. That's it." The grip was going nowhere fast if he couldn't provide a true answer quick enough. "And he smells good. I'm done."

With his hands up in surrender, Vergil pulled his head to a comfortable angle and leaned into him, each breath tingling his whole blushing face. "You are."

"I am." The hybrid eased his clutch downward, allowing the poor human soul to regain the dignity back to his legs, wrapping his arms around his neck in an act of defiance to drive his intentions home. "I am."

"Good. I will not be outdone; try your utmost to remember that." And he would, for the next few moments his body would know nothing but Vergil's touch, pulling him tongue first into the chasm of his own ecstasy without any effort. The mildly vulgar assault on his mouth was just the beginning of a punishment he would happily endure forever.

Literally.


End file.
